Wilted
by NotAContrivance
Summary: You'd done wrong by this girl.
1. Happy Birthday

Okay, so I got this great idea during the middle of the night... Or maybe I was showering. I don't quite recall. But it was so great that I had to sit down and feverishly write out the plot details so I couldn't forget. And that very great idea happened to be this very fic. Now, I know I've a million other things to be writing and homework to be doing, but this haunted me (and still haunts me) and wouldn't leave me alone. So I had to write it. Anyways, I wrote this part somewhere in October, and then I edited it, and I've been patiently holding it until this very day to post it. Which was unbelievably hard as I've been so excited about it and wanted to tell the whole world. Anyways, I love it to pieces, and I'm rather proud of it. I really couldn't wait to post it. I decided I was sick of waiting, and so here I am, posting it way earlier than I meant to.

There will be a second part. And more... I don't really know how long this is gonna go on, really, to tell the truth. I haven't really thought that out much. And it may very well be that there is a long time between updates. I'm gonna try and have the next chapter out by December 2nd or 3rd, but I can't really make promises. On the bright side, I think I'm over halfway done.

Now, for some explanation... Okay, this is in Second Person. And, while few names are mentioned in this part at all... I'm pretty sure you can figure out who's point of view it's sort of in. I think you'll get it if you read it. As for the time period, this is strictly first season, set directly after the events of Un-Sweet Sixteen. Except for this chapter, which takes place during like... the last 5-10 minutes of the episode, I think. The rest of it takes place afterwards, so it's sort of an aftermath thing. It's a little AU, but basically all the same things do happen, just differently, because of the one big thing that happens in the next chapter. I'll give you a clue... The ending sort of foreshadows something.

Finally, we come to the thanks section. Okay, so first thanks go to Six for answering my stupid questions, lol, giving me her very valuable opinion, letting me use her old title... and finally and most importantly, for writing If Things Were Different, which was a fountain of help to me when I couldn't just go and watch the episode on YouTube. I seriously couldn't have done it without your help. And then another thanks goes out to Ruby, for giving me her opinion on this. It really means a lot to me.

Anyways, now on to the actual story. Aren't you proud of me? I actually kept it brief for once. Hope you all like it!

* * *

You pushed past him, barely able to keep your disdain and hatred for him from spilling into a violent rage. You wanted to rip him apart, to tear him limb from limb. His uncle, though, he wouldn't like that. Neither would she, you thought. You'd promised her... It was her birthday wish that you'd get along with him. And you're infamous for your temper, but you bit your tongue and held back. For her. Because you owed her that much. So even then, after he'd ruined everything for her, you honored your promise. Hitting him wouldn't make things better. It might make you feel better. It might make you feel less like you just sit there and let him break her heart. But it wouldn't make things better. You doubted that anything you could say or do would even come close to making it better.

You think you've broken her heart far too much already, and that she doesn't need any more heartbreak. You try and remind yourself that you warned her, but you still feel like you didn't try hard enough. So, in that sense at least, you feel that this is all your fault. You want to make things better for her. She looks so lonely there, leaning up against that railing. She's holding on to it desperately as if it were an anchor, as if it could save her. As if it could rescue her from a sea of loneliness and heartache. But it can't... you think you might, someday, hopefully, on some later date... That you might possibly fill that torn hole in her heart, that terrible void in her life... but you're not sure of that. And that's why, at first, you just sit and stare at her, thinking, wow. Just wow.

She's so... pretty. Her hair's suddenly limp and hanging in her face, and something about her whole posture has drooped. Her dress looks somehow not tragic enough, and she looks rather pale in it. You think she ought to be angry instead, that she should've thrown a drink on him at the very least. It's not like her to be so sad. You can deal with her angry, albeit not well, but you can. Rage is a safe, friendly emotion. You know it well. But crying? You're hopeless around tears, especially those of a woman. God knows you've broken more hearts than you can count (or would be willing to admit), and you've never stayed around long enough to help, but... she makes you want to fix it. Unlike him, when you say that she makes you want to be a better guy, you actually mean it.

You glanced up, taking in your surroundings. The blackened clouds hung in the sky, heavy with rain. It had been a strangely dark, sickly green color. The light that shone in the alley was weak. It was so dim and dreary, much like the girl who stood there, sobbing. The air smelled like rain, and there was a December chill in the air that made you shiver. But there was something else in the air, not the rain and not the chill... something else entirely that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There's something utterly wrong about it, but you can't put your finger on it. And then you can... Anticipation.

You wanted to... you should do something. But you can't make yourself move. You want to, but your feet won't take that necessary step. You just stood there like a marble statue, staring at her. Your breath caught in your throat. She was that beautiful. You keep thinking of roses because they're your favorite flower, as girly as that is, and you can't help but remember how she smelled earlier. She reminds you of one, too, with her hair that shines like rubies, and her dress so deep an emerald. You've seen her bloom before your eyes, and you've felt the sting of her thorns. Or at least you thought you had. You didn't know then. And you wanted to buy her flowers because that had always made things better before with those other, cheap girls, but she isn't like them.

It was going to rain, but you didn't know how hard. When it finally did, the force of it surprised you. It had rained earlier, far earlier in the morning... when you'd surprised her with that pancake. 12:01 and silver lighters and birthday wishes, you think with a wry smile. It was funny how that happy time seemed suddenly so far away. You haven't smiled like that in ages, but you always smile when you're around her. You can't help that, and it scares you. You're not that kind of guy, but you can't help it... God help you. But it's all so different now, now that you can... That she's... Now that her boyfriend had cheated on her. Now that he'd carelessly dumped her and left her there, treating her like garbage on the street that he was just too lazy to pick up. It kills you to think that you'd actually wanted this to happen, for her to be free, and you'd been wanting it for a pretty long time, but never like this... You'd never wanted to see her like this. She didn't deserve to be left so broken, suffering from the wounds of a shattered heart that was just... killing her.

You knew her, and you knew her well, so only _you_ could tell just how devastated she truly was.

She had a broken heart, and all you wanted to do was fix it. Dry her tears... Heal her. Pick up the pieces and put her back together again like in the song you yourself wrote at the tender age of sixteen. You're not used to having these kinds of... feelings. Suddenly she looked up and saw you there, and your heart flew up into your throat. It was like you forgot how to breathe with her eyes on you, so afraid that you were going to screw things up and ruin everything. And you knew you would, but you forced those dreadful, morbid thoughts back. You lied to yourself, told yourself that you wouldn't ruin it or her. You weren't that kind of guy anymore. You were a good man, you said in your head, and good men do not...

Funny how you couldn't finish that thought.

But your brain had turned to mush from all your glancing at her in that dress. You two just stared at each other for that one, endless, timeless moment, and it was like nothing mattered anymore. None of it. Not your job (which you didn't care much about anyways), not your past, not her future, not what everyone else said, not her now ex-boyfriend, not her geeky best friend, and most certainly, not her age. Only her. She was the only thing that mattered to you and... when that realization hit you, you became so scared, alive with the fear.

Afraid of what you'd do because you knew you'd do something about it. You're the kind of man who does things. You're the kind of man who screws up, and heaven knows you do that a lot. You know you'd ruin it, that you'd ruin her... because that's what you always do. You screw up; it's all you do. You should stay away from her. And yet, next thing you know, you were walking over to her, offering your support as best you could. She was your friend, after all. But just your friend, nothing more. Not even in your dreams (only that's a lie). She couldn't... It was the least you could do. She snapped at you, striking out, finally showing that fury you knew her to be capable of. "Go ahead," She barely managed to choke out in an accusing tone, voice breaking, glaring at you with all the might she could muster, "Tell me 'I told you so'!"

But it wasn't true wrath, just bitterness, and her voice was so achingly full of hurt that it broke your heart- the heart you like to pretend you don't have. She was like a cracked porcelain doll, only no hospital could fix her. Then she sniffled loudly, the bright light in her eyes dying out as she turned away from you, burying her head in her hands. You wanted to tell her that you would've never rubbed such a thing in her face, but you didn't. It wasn't necessary. You hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in her pain to care, but it had started to rain. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, and you came closer. You wanted to do something nice for her, something to comfort her, so you gave her your jacket, even though it was already wet. It was a nice gesture anyways. You placed one warm hand on her shoulder lightly, setting the other one on her back soothingly. Your hands moved of their own accord, and you found your left hand rubbing slow circles on her back. Your movements were slow and gentle because you were afraid of crossing any boundaries.

It was no use, however. The dress and the jacket were so thin and so waterlogged that you could easily feel the muscles and bones in her back beneath your hand. Her muscles seemed so stiff, but she yielded surprisingly to your touch. She was oddly comfortable with you, letting her guard down for a minute as her watery eyes flickered dully over her surroundings. You sighed softly under your breath, wishing you could take her in your arms for real. You wanted to touch her bare skin, too, and wondered how soft it would be. Would it be as soft as her lips had been against your cheek this morning (twice, you recalled. She'd kissed you twice. Not that you're counting or anything)? You'd only barely been able to resist kissing her in the Viper and probably would've had that woman not called. Oh, you remembered that, and you remembered with disdain. But you couldn't and _shouldn't_ touch her. If you did, who knows what you'd do? You wouldn't be able to control yourself anymore, and your grip was already slipping.

She was still shuddering, and your hands were cold. It had been warmer than usual for December that day, but you were all too aware of the bite in the air. You wanted to give her good advice like you always did, the kind of advice you'd wished someone had been around to give you when you where her age. But the words that always came so easy... they didn't come out like you wanted them to. You couldn't think of a single thing to say to her that would make it all better. Maybe this was because you had never been in love, and had never been attached enough to any of your girlfriends for the inevitable break-up to hurt. So, in this instance not speaking from experience, you settled for the first thing that came to mind. "For what it's worth, Shay's a kid... and an _idiot_," You told her, trying to comfort her by insulting her ex.

That was what friends did, wasn't it? After a break-up, they trashed the boyfriend who'd ruined it. Cheaters were the worst of all, the lowest of the low. And, after all, you were a notorious philanderer, so you should know better than anyone. You weren't thinking about what you were saying as much as you should have. It sort of just came out. What you meant was that she didn't deserve a kid. She deserved a _real_ man, not some punk who couldn't possibly see how great she was. He was an idiot if he couldn't see that, and he was an even bigger idiot for giving her up. What you wanted to say was that she deserved someone who would appreciate her. And you were a real man who knew how great she was and didn't take her for granted, but just coincidentally. Or so you tell yourself.

You exhaled heavily, backing away from her. It was clear she didn't want you hanging all over her. Why were you doing this? She doesn't want you, and her boyfriend just dumped her on national television at her birthday party. She's in a vulnerable place, and you would only screw things up. You don't want to be a rebound guy, not in her case. And you know you shouldn't, but you have to say something to show her she's desirable, at least in your eyes. So you say it anyways, putting your hands in your pockets as you try and stare out at the alleyway. You can't look at her when she's like this, tragically beautiful. But you do anyways, eyes darting to meet hers as you lean in a little... "And he made the wrong choice," You murmur slowly, unable to take your eyes off her even if you wanted.

She looks up at you with those sad eyes as if in awe for a moment before the disbelief sets in. No one had ever looked at you like that before, as if you were some sort of angel, a hero-type... even if it was only for that one moment. She clearly cannot believe that you, of all people, are telling her this. That hurts a little, but you stand by what you said. There's a difference between you and him, you think. He had the choice. You don't. And maybe you knew deep down that comment would make her mad because it did. Her moist eyes blazed with a fire you hadn't seen in ages, and you felt relieved. "That's not much, coming from _you_," She spat vindictively, hugging her arms around her waist and giving you the darkest, most intense glare of your life up to that point.

You almost winced, but you held it in. That comment really got to you because... you were exactly like him, and he wasn't a guy you wanted to be. The only difference was that you'd broken her heart more and in different ways. You wished you'd never met her sister, let alone touched her. And you knew exactly what she meant by the barb, but you pretended you didn't. It was easier that way than to accept things you didn't want to acknowledge. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" You questioned a bit more sharply than you intended, sounding as offended as you felt. Did she think you'd liked hurting her, that you'd relished it... that you played games with her heart to suit your own purposes, just because you could? You weren't like that.

That was the old you, and you'd left him behind long ago, before you'd even met her. Eventually, a part of him still left in you had died each day until there was none of him left inside you still breathing, and the dead bits of that guy you used to be had just... fallen away into nothingness. And for that, you were proud. People could change. You tried to steady your racing heartbeat as some unknown feeling rose up in your chest, but it failed. Indigestion, you told yourself, even though it wasn't. You hated the way she said "you" like it was a dirty word, wielding the full force of that glare like it was Excalibur... You wanted her respect.

You really wanted a whole lot more than her respect, but those things were things that she couldn't give you by law... things she shouldn't give you. And it wasn't right to want them from her nearly half as much as you did, for you wanted them desperately. You were always greedy, and you couldn't help but to want more. She sighed raggedly, fast crumbling into pieces before your eyes. Her mascara had run around her eyes, making rings underneath them, her delicate silk dress ruined, and her normally vivid red hair was plastered to her forehead, a tainted scarlet, but you thought her beautiful nonetheless. She sniffled, turning her eyes away at the last moment, unable to look at you. "I'm so _tired_ of falling for guys who don't fall back," She almost shouted, though her voice came out weakened and hoarse, heavy with pain. "It _hurts_," She whimpered thickly, shivering in the cold, glancing at you briefly from the corner of her dead, pain-stricken eyes.

The rain worsened, and thunder echoed over your heads. She leaned forward on the dirty metal railing, pressing her stomach against the cool metal. Her hands clutched the handrail with white knuckles, and she defiantly raised her chin and did not look at you. She stared desolately out at the pitiful dumpster below, eyes taking in the urban grunge feel. The alleyway seemed so sad, so low-class, so abandoned. The city had industrialized and improved, but not here. No, this little alley had been left behind, just like her. Her eyes peered wistfully at the large puddles below, defects in a street hardly level enough to be called a street. The asphalt was warped and full of potholes, forever damaged and incapable of ever being fixed, just like she felt she was.

You were guilt-stricken. This was all your fault. You should've never let that loser get anywhere near her. You should've banned him, never produced him. It would've been better off if she had never laid her aquamarine eyes on him. He was unworthy of even a glance from her. She had always been far too good for him. Oh, why didn't you ever tell her this? Maybe if you did, things would've been different. And, then again, maybe they wouldn't have...

This time, there was no denying that you knew **exactly** what she was talking about. She was talking about what had happened that night backstage at the Vinyl Palace, just before her set. That kiss that you two never speak of but cannot deny. You remember being so surprised that she would have the nerve to do that. It was a bold move. You... you never thought she was really serious about it. You just thought she was some girl with a crush on that guy you had been once upon a time, that scrubbed-down, clean-cut, happy-on-the-outside boy with the devastating smile who'd broken hearts all over the world.

You never thought she was actually into you, the real you. But you should've known better. Nothing about her was predictable, after all. You don't even get how she saw you for who you really were beneath all the baggage and the masks, but she did. She saw it in you that second day, when you were at the pier. Just like you saw something in her... that spark, that "it factor". That was when you knew she was going to be something huge. And, as much as you told herself she was wrong when she kissed you back then, she wasn't. Not one bit.

You hate to admit that because it means that you started to feel something for her much earlier than you'd like to admit, but it's true. You led her on a little, flirted a lot more than you should've or normally would have with an artist. Not that you were adverse to mixing business and pleasure, if the girl was hot enough. You really wanted her to like you, so you tried hard, and you went that extra mile... for her. She wasn't wrong. After she kissed you, you made excuses for yourself, saying that you didn't know how to turn off your natural charm... but every excuse was worse than the last, and they were all lies. You didn't really lead her on then, because some part of you, some perverse, sick, insane part of you... actually _wanted_ her to go after you. You invited her behavior, and then you confused her because you weren't ready. So you acted like you didn't really want it after all, and denied it because you had everything telling you to do so and bury your head in the sand. You denied what you felt for her, and eventually you even convinced yourself to believe your own lies.

But in the end, they were still lies, even if they were beautiful. Even if you'd said all the right things to make up for it. You were dying to say that you had fallen back, but you bit your lip instead. After all, that would be stupid. You'd never fallen for anyone in your life, and the last thing you wanted to do was give her the right idea about how you felt. If you did that, you wouldn't be able to stop, and you'd only wind up hurting her in the end. It would've been a false hope. You stare out into the rain, soaked to the bone and freezing, but you don't shiver, and you don't move. You're concentrating so hard on saying the right thing, even if you don't know what it is. "Jude, I-" You began with all the best intentions, but she interrupted you.

She shook her head, tears or rain streaming down her face, and you were powerless to say anything more. Whatever you were going to say, she didn't want to hear it. She'd made that quite clear. She shook her head again, laughing bitterly. "You all say the nicest things... You're so great, you're so nice... but none of you wanna date me!" She lamented, choking back tears, gasping out the words, flinging her hands in the air. Her jewelry glimmered in the dusky light. The rain intensified, and so did her rant. It seemed perfectly timed, the worst of the storm both above you and around you. Lightning flickered just as her breakdown (for that's what it was, and it would be foolish to say otherwise) built up to a climax. She sobbed loudly.

For the first time in a while, she looked you straight in the eye, and you were taken aback by what you saw there in those cerulean depths. She suddenly seemed like someone strikingly older looking at you in that unnerving way that insured you wouldn't feel quite right about it. You suddenly noticed just how hurt she was. How this one stupid fling had completely damaged her. The pain in that soft, sky blue gaze was more than you could bear. Her stormy eyes crackled with force. The full wave of her emotions crashed over you, and you couldn't believe it was possible to feel so many things at once. And somewhere in there, she was looking at you a little like she used to, before him. She looked like a lost, lonely little girl, staring up at you with wide, naive eyes and an unbelievable reverence. That was the moment she foolishly invested all her trust in you. "So you want to help me, Tommy?" She asked loudly and forcibly, turning her head to face you and getting closer to you than she should have.

She wanted your opinion as a friend, yes, but she was far more concerned with your opinion as a man... a man who had also rejected her for another, blonder female. She had no right to ask such things of you, but she did anyways because she was sixteen, and she just didn't give a damn anymore. Rage was quickly building up within your chest. It was a dangerous, swirling cocktail... Fury against he who had cheated on her, wrath against yourself for hurting her, and finally, frustration that she couldn't see... everything. She was so blind! "Tell me what I do wrong. Tell me why I'm so easy to give up, and then _maybe_ I can fix it!" She shrieked earnestly, becoming hysterical.

Your hands were on the railing she was leaning on too, almost brushing hers... You had previously been shooting glances over at her worriedly, but after that heartwrenching speech, you could take no more. Your rage bubbled over. You wanted to tell her that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was perfect in your fault-finding eyes, and that she was doing nothing wrong, but you stopped yourself. Why couldn't she see how amazing she was? Why couldn't she see that he had never, ever deserved her? Why couldn't she see that she was too good for that? And... why couldn't she see that you were falling in love with her?! So you straightened up a little bit, unable to deny yourself this one, small pleasure any longer. "You are asking the **wrong** guy," You exhaled huskily, trying and failing in a last-ditch effort to stop yourself from taking what you wanted. It was pouring, and the rain came down even harder, almost to the point of turning into hail. The thunder truly sounded overhead, and lightning flashed brilliantly every few seconds.

The frozen rain hit you hard as it pelted against your skin to the point of being painful. It was then that you knew you'd had enough of this. You were sick of acting and keeping this a secret. To **hell** with it all! You knew what you wanted, and you were going for it this time. You whirled around then, grabbing her by the arms, forcing her to face you, and pulling her towards you in a fluid motion. Before she even knew what was going on, you crushed your lips against hers savagely. It was not a kiss of careful consideration, nor was it a kiss of particular tenderness. It was a rough, hasty, impromptu expression of furious passion and intensity of feeling. There was nothing delicate about it. Had you been inside, you would've had her up against a wall.

You moaned at the thought of that, having her so close to you. This is what you had been wanting for months, to stop hiding behind that soundboard on the other side of the glass and say what you feel. Or in this case, express what you feel and then feel. After all, you've always thought that actions speak louder than words... And, in some cases, they do. This happened to be one of them. Her arms were positioned strangely in front of her chest due to the awkward position you'd assumed. She most definitely had not been expecting this from you, but she was a fast learner. Within seconds, she was responding fervently to your touch. She leaned upward on her tiptoes, grabbing you by the lapels, pressing her lips against yours tentatively at first, but then with more passion.

Your eyes were shut the entire time, and you rarely did anything with a girl with your eyes closed. It felt... amazing. And you'd kissed a lot of girls, but you'd never felt like this kissing any one of them. You know that's supposed to mean something, but you just brushed it off. It seemed like a second later, but you broke the kiss, partly because you needed to catch your breath and partly because you were afraid she was going to hate you for this moment of weakness. You were so nervous about her reaction that your palms, Casanova's palms, were actually sweaty. Imagine that. You still thought that she only thought of you as a friend. You'd never realized that she still had any lingering feelings for you, and maybe that had been why she'd brought Shay up all the time around you. Maybe she wanted to make you jealous, maybe she wanted to assert that she did not have feelings for you anymore. But the fact of the matter was that she did. She'd never really forgotten about you. So, less than nine seconds after you broke the kiss, you went back for round two. Because you could, and that wasn't an opportunity you were used to seizing. You wanted more.

She wasn't surprised and responded immediately, opening her mouth against yours. Kissing her felt so much different... so much better than you'd ever imagined. And you _had_ imagined it to death, plagued by visions of her every night. Her hands slid down to your shoulders, and your hands went to her waist, pulling her against you, bringing her closer to you as much as you could. You wanted to feel her. Her body heat seeped through the cold silk. And you were happy, really happy, not thinking about a thing in the world other than being with her here and now. Only somewhere in there, when the need for oxygen became apparent, you pulled away slightly, keeping your eyes closed for a little while longer to savor the moment. Then you forced your eyes open and just... You rested your forehead against hers, holding her gaze, and staring straight into those sapphire depths. Her eyes had darkened with passion, and you desperately wanted to kiss her again, but you didn't.

You just stood there, catching your breath, holding her there, and not moving. You honestly didn't want to go anywhere. You wanted to stay there with her in that stolen moment forever, for that's what it was, and somewhere deep down, you knew that this must never happen again. It was a brief, stolen moment, and it would soon be over. You had finally been impulsive, and this was one impulse you promised you'd never regret. Your noses, hers noticeably redder than yours, brushed slightly, and she flushed a little.

Especially as the door at the end of the catwalk opened, revealing an old man and a far younger girl, party guests who were apparently looking for the way out and found more than they'd bargained for. You felt flushed and nervous at their arrival. They'd seen too much, so you looked away embarrassedly and distanced yourself from her. Finally, after an eternity, the old man closed the door, realizing that place wasn't a way out at all, leaving you two alone. At first, you said nothing at all, but then the realization and implications of what you had done hit you over the head. The image of that old man and young girl stuck in your head, and you substituted yourself for him and her for that girl. You were that old man, and she was that far younger girl. And you suddenly couldn't live with yourself.

You felt like a dirty old man who was messing around with something too young and too beautiful for one as emotionally crippled as you. You would be a horrible man to have a relationship with; distant, cold, neglectful, mercurial, sex-addicted, and angry as you were. With you, she would have to grow up far too fast, exactly as you had. Life in the fast lane was not a healthy experience. You didn't want her to wind up like you, immature in the brain, stupidly ignorant, burned out, and emotionally damaged. You didn't want this business to leave her with any deep, lingering wounds. You didn't want to leave her with a scar or scars as you knew you would. You felt like you were taking advantage of her, and that seemed to be exactly what you'd done. As it sunk in further, you became even more horrified with yourself.

You had kissed her, a _minor_. A relationship beyond the professional and platonic with her was... out of the question! Not to mention that it could get you jail time. And you'd finally given into your feelings, so what was stopping you now? You never, ever **just** kissed a girl. It was always more with you. And you found yourself going back on the promise you had made only seconds before... You did regret it. But, you amended, hoping to save face with yourself, you would never forget. _Je ne oublie jamais_, you swore in your native tongue. _Je me souviens!_ It became your oath. You knew you mustn't, too, for this was a mistake that couldn't afford to be repeated. It is only from the mistakes of the past that you can fix the present. And it wasn't going to end pretty. You knew what you had to tell her, and it wasn't going to be easy.

She would probably hate you and for good reason. But her hating you was better than her loving you, better and wiser for the both of you. You wouldn't get in trouble, and she wouldn't get her heart br... Oh, wait... sorry. It was too late to save her heart. Fine, she wouldn't have to get a new producer, at least... Or lose a friend because of it. You had to do what was the best for the both of you, and right now, you didn't know what that was. But you had do it, whatever it was, no matter what either of you wanted, which had to be, of course, the same thing... to be to... No, you couldn't even think that dreaded sentence, lest you get your hopes up. You would... do something. You had to do something, but first, you needed to think... away from her. Your mind was too cloudy with worry, fear, regret, attraction, and affection here. "You should go, Jude," You mumbled distractedly, feeling dazed and unlike yourself. You needed space, and she needed solitude. Here you were, already distancing yourself.

She could feel it, and with that dreadful air came her own realization. It was like she knew. Her eyes widened in desperation as she clutched your shirt tightly in her hand, unwilling to let you do this. You knew it wasn't going to be easy, but you never thought it'd be this... hard. It was as if she was deliberately making this harder on you. And you didn't want that. "Tommy, _don't_!" She cried, distressed, voice breaking, nearly begging you not to make her leave. You wanted to take her in her arms and never let go, but you couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair to her. You were damaged goods, too old to be messed with.

But, damn it, you didn't want to do this. You didn't want to purposely break her heart to save the both of you. You cared about her, and you weren't used to caring about much of anyone outside of yourself. You weren't used to looking out for people, or taking anyone under your wing like you had with her. You two were so alike and yet... so markedly different. She would never do this to you, you thought, had the situation been reversed. But you were the older one, and you had the responsibility to sort this all out. You tried to make it up to her with a tender caress of the hand, trying to gently get your message across.

You wanted her to know, at least, that, no matter what happened, you would always care about her. That had never been a lie. "I'll see you inside, okay?" You whispered, trying to convey the message with your eyes. You were never quite sure that she'd understood it. So many things between you two were better left unsaid, lest one of you say too much and get in too deep. She started to protest, but suddenly understanding flickered in her eyes, and a sad, empty look passed over her face. She'd finally admitted to herself what she'd known to be true only moments earlier. So she nodded, eyes filling with tears that you hated to see.

The rain had let up a bit. She couldn't stay here, though. She needed to leave, but you didn't have the heart to make her. "Just go," You muttered somewhat tersely, almost pleading with her to make this easier for you. Hurting her would be so much easier if she hated you. After all, you already hated yourself enough for this. You hated that you couldn't just turn your feelings off like a faucet or bury them in the ground like other dogs bury their bones. But no, this was your shame to bear, and suffer you must... in silence.

She shuddered from the sudden chill in the air, now that you two were no longer close. "Okay," She said in a quiet voice, brushing past you as fast as she could. It physically hurt her to look at you any more, knowing that you would soon let her down. And she didn't notice because she stubbornly refused to spin around and glance back at you, but you turned fully around and watched her leave, walking all the way past you and through the door. Your eyes burned a hole in her back, and you wondered how she didn't notice. The damp silk was incredibly thin and incredibly clingy. So you had stared at her ass unashamedly, but then forced yourself to look away. It wasn't right of you. God, you missed her already. And you hated yourself for that.

You staggered backwards almost drunkenly, reeling from your encounter with her, amazed at what had just occurred, and staring in the direction she'd just gone in suspended disbelief. You couldn't believe that had actually happened. It was like something out of a dream. But, as your leg and arms hit the back of the cool, wet railing, you knew it was real. You leaned heavily against the railing, turned around wearily, and stared moodily out into the darkness below. If you squinted, you could just barely see lights off in the distance. You shook your head, screwing your eyes shut, sighing and wishing it wasn't so, but alas, it was so. Bad, bad, bad... You'd just screwed up big time. You resisted the urge to touch your lips or to wipe off the pink stain that you were sure was smeared all over them. The lipstick was your mark... the only visible mark she left on you, and you would wear it with pride.

You knew it was a mistake, but it felt so good that you could see this one happening over and over and over again... but only if you let it. And as much as you wanted that, you knew you couldn't let it happen. You don't usually learn from your mistakes, but this time you'd make an exception, and you'd learn out of sheer necessity. You couldn't possibly ever do anything this **stupid** ever again, and you'd done so many stupid things in your life... but this one topped the list. It was the icing on her birthday cake. How had something so innocent gone so wrong so fast?

For a while, you just stood there, accepting it all, taking the pounding of the rain on your back as a penance. It had a resurgence after she left, ironically enough. But it didn't hurt you like it should've because all you wanted to do was kiss her again. You knew that it was a mistake, but if you could go back in time, you know you'd do it again. Finally, you decided that you couldn't take the cold anymore. Sure, you regretted what you were going to do to her, and you deserved to suffer for it... but you couldn't freeze. Besides, you thought with a dour smile, if indeed you could call it that, women had always accused you of having a heart of ice.

Soaked to the bone and missing your suit jacket, you were sure you made quite a sight walking in there. You usually put so much care into your appearance, and people knew that. The paparazzi might have a field day with this, you think, had it been any other day. Luckily for you, they were too focused on the big break-up to care about you. For that, at least, you were grateful. You knew they were staring at you, and you could feel their eyes on you, but you refused to dignify their queries with a look.

Your hair was a mess, and your clothes felt heavy against your frame. However rude it was, you were even dripping on the floor. You hid that, though, by walking in all nonchalant like you'd just been going for a pleasant stroll outside. Of course, no one goes for a walk in the rain, but no one questioned you. Someone should've, you think, but everyone was too busy scuttling about, trying to fix his mess. Not even your best friend approached you, and on some level, you were relieved. But then again, you weren't. Your world had changed in an instant (kind of like hers did months ago, you suppose), yet nothing had really changed.

You retired to your office, needing to dry off a bit and get your thoughts together. You wanted to know exactly the right words to say to her, and you thought it over carefully. Then you realized that there weren't any right words, but you tried anyways. You came up with about a million things to tell her, but none of them seemed good enough. None of them would ever be good enough. Her heart would be broken anyways... again. You really didn't want to be That Guy. You had tried so hard, but even you had cracked.

Why was this so difficult, you bemoaned. You were between a rock and a hard place, damned if you did and damned if you didn't. You didn't have much of a choice. There was only really one option, one option that society could accept. You... you weren't such a great guy. She deserved better than you. You'd been around the block so many times you'd lost count. She didn't need someone like you, even though you needed her. You were too old with too many issues, and there's no way anyone would ever approve. Her dad would kill you if he found out. Her mom would press charges. And her friend would surely make jokes about you "infecting" her, or continually attempt to turn her against you.

So you sat there, thinking all this and watching the party die out from your window. You didn't know where she was just yet, but you knew her. So you'd find her... eventually. When the time was right. Only the time wouldn't ever be right again. You pulled the flask out of your desk that you kept there for such emergencies as this. You pulled it out and had a few sips. The whiskey burned a hole down your throat, but you didn't cough. You had long ago gotten used to the numbing sensation. There was, after all, a reason they called it liquid courage. Then you saw that the crowd was thinning, and you took a deep swig of it before you screwed the cap shut and slipped it in your pocket. After all, you never know when you might need a stiff drink.

You left your office, walking past the studios and various other rooms. You didn't even look inside some of them because you knew she wouldn't be there. You don't know how you knew, but you did. You knew she'd be in some isolated, lonely place that people never went. A place, unlike the fire escape, where people would be unlikely to walk in and intrude. Which meant, of course, that she had to be in the music room. It was a desolate, oft-forgotten side room with not much to its name other than the Baby Grand and strange, vented windows. Even Georgia forgot about the room most of the time as G. Major had few artists who played the piano extensively. It was rarely used for practice, and sometimes, after everyone had left, you would go in and just play for hours, composing symphonies and songs you would never write down or record.

So you somehow knew that's where she'd be. Your suspicions were further confirmed when you heard her singing that song she'd been writing as a present to him even though it was her birthday. She was experimenting with it, changing the words around a bit. The meaning changed along with them, and it almost hurt your ears to hear her singing lyrics that were so blatantly about yourself. It made you want to choke. Then she stopped playing, and her fists smashed down on the keys, making a horrible clash of sound. And, if you put your ear up against the door and listened intently, you could just barely make out the sounds of her heartbreaking sobs.

You didn't want to go in, but you knew you had to eventually, so you waited it out a bit. You fixed your hair, washed up, and warmed up a bit. The party cleared even more, and she seemed like she'd gotten it together a bit more. You took a deep breath, feeling sick to your stomach, and you forced your feet forward as you slowly opened the door. Sighing softly, you walked in, hoping to God that she didn't hate you already. You shuffled in, putting your hands in your (still slightly damp) pockets, glancing at the floor with trepidation. You felt her eyes on you, but when you glanced up, she was staring at the floor. "The party's pretty much over," You replied, by means of making conversation. You were trying to tell her that it was safe to leave, but the words weren't coming out right. "People are clearing out," You continued, grimacing at yourself. You were just babbling on, trying to fill the terrible silence with pointless chatter.

You weren't helping anyone. "Look, about before in the alleyway..." You began awkwardly. She surprised you by looking up just then, as if on cue, and meeting your stare. There was an dreadful, accusing look in her eyes that made her look wrathful, but her body betrayed her. She was shivering only slightly, bottom lip trembling, and she looked very, very afraid of you. You looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in hours. Your jacket was still around her shoulders, in exactly the same place you had lovingly draped it earlier. She looked like a drowned rat, and you felt lower than that. The vibrant green silk of her dress made her look sickly and unwell. She seemed so incredibly vulnerable as she buried her head in her hands helplessly. She didn't even want to look at you. That's when it hit you that she really was only a girl. A little girl, and you were horrible for considering her anything else. She was just a kid. And, thoughts swirling in your head, you let yourself trail off because you couldn't think of a single decent thing to say.

You'd like to be able to get through this without her slapping you, but you know you'd deserve it anyways. You sighed, unable to come up with even a single word. You were usually so good at this sort of thing. Only words could save you now. So, why, when you need words the most, why were they determined to fail you? It was as if your mind had stopped functioning. And maybe there wasn't anything right to say in this situation, and you knew that too, but you were just _so_ very determined. You had to say something, just like you had to fix your mistake. Finally, you just sighed raggedly and accepted the fact that maybe you couldn't fix this.

Maybe you would never be able to atone for this, no matter how hard you tried. But you swallowed that doubt down, hoping for the best. And, since you couldn't think of a single word to say to her, this girl you had so wronged already, you said the first thing that came to mind. "I _really_ don't know what to say," You exhaled, feeling suddenly weary. There was more truth to that statement than you'd intended. She'd looked so small and pathetic there, listlessly curled up on that piano bench. But all of a sudden, she came alive. Her eyes blazed this time with a real anger, albeit one tinged with bitterness. She knew what was coming.

At least, she thought she did. "Come on, Tommy!" She demanded venomously, straightening and glaring at you so darkly one would think you were the Antichrist. In that moment, you were. You felt lower than dirt. Her lip curled in revulsion. "I think we _both_ know what you want to say," She snorted bitterly, scowling up at you knowingly. She was suddenly very volatile, on the brink of an explosion... and you didn't want to be the one to send her over the edge. This breakdown was going to be worse than the last one because what you had done was worse than what he did. She had to see you every day, every day knowing exactly what you did, what you two could've had together. And you would want her every day, but you could never say anything about it.

"It was just a mistake, _right_?" She asked rhetorically, voice rising tremulously. You hated to admit it was. It was, and... then again, it wasn't. You'd gotten caught up in the moment, yes, but you had wanted to kiss her for a scandalously long time. And wanting that, craving it so... That was worse than the actual deed. While thinking those thoughts didn't hurt her as she couldn't read your mind, they hurt your perception of her. In your mind, you were objectifying her, making her like all of those other women. All those lonely thoughts at night with no place to go. They didn't vanish, building up within you instead until eventually... you snapped. As you had tonight. So, in that sense, it was a mistake, even though you'd do it again if you could. And even though you thought it was beyond worth it.

But you didn't nod, and you didn't say a single word... artfully neither a yes nor a no. But she could see right through you, that girl. She always had too, ever since that day at the pier when she'd looked into your eyes and seen straight into your multidimensional, enigmatic soul. It still amazed you that she, a young girl, had seen through to you to the core. She'd seen a side of you that even your closest friends, lovers, hell... even your ex-wife had rarely even glanced, if they'd seen it at all. This girl had seen things in you that no one else would've ever imagined. And she already knew you better in the span of a few months than your ex-wife had before, during, and after the entire length of your brief marriage. Not that you should marry her, though. That would be crazy, after all, as she was far too young and you'd sworn long ago (after the long two years it had taken for the divorce to be finalized) that you'd never get married again. It was a promise you intended to stand by, no matter how amazingly fantastic this girl was... or how she got you _the_ most.

Because she was only six-**teen**, after all, as you yourself had said. And so this sixteen-year-old girl who knew you _so_ well; she took your silence for an answer, a silent admission of your guilt. She took it for what it was, for it was an admission of guilt. You just couldn't manage to get the heartbreaking words past your lips. You'd been so good at that business lately, shattering hearts left and right. But this one mattered; she wasn't like all the others.

She was, most certainly, nothing like any of the others in both good and bad ways. She had to know that you were the real mistake here. Even your miserable existence was a hapless accident resulting from a drunken night and a lack of birth control. You were that guy, a mistake through and through. It was in your very blood. You were good for a roll in the hay and maybe a song or a dance or two, but nothing more than that. You would never be any woman's boyfriend or any wife's husband. Not really because you didn't know how. You were just a fling most of the time, and any woman that got attached to you wound up brokenhearted, regretting it, and hating you. But a lot of them came back anyways at your beck and call like submissive marionettes, putting up with you for much longer than they should've, caught up in your image and delusions of making you love, of changing you, of taming your wild spirit, of being the one to finally make you settle down. And of course, such a woman would never exist. So it was their mistake, and you were that mistake. You scratched their itch, and you gratified that self-destructive yet delicious addiction.

She was no different from those women in that aspect, except that she held few delusions about you. Whatever delusions she had were firmly based in reality, a reflection of the improper feelings you had for her. And while that ideal, that woman who could do all that, who would conquer you, still didn't even come remotely close to having an existence... Mainly because you would never tolerate such a shrew, and you would only change if you actually wanted to and only when you were good and ready... The truth of it was that she came closer than any female, girl or woman, ever had. She kept coming back to you, even after ups and downs that would've made any self-respecting woman such as herself run away. Because she knew from the beginning that you were a mistake, and she didn't care. She came back anyways because she wanted you, and you were her _favorite_ mistake to make.

She wasn't a mistake, no matter what she thought. But she hated this term as well she should. It made her like everything else in your life. It made her feel used and worthless, and pathetic because she still... she cared, okay! To say the least, she cared... no, she loved you. You thought it an honor of which you were wholly undeserving. But damn it if she didn't want to be a mistake, even if she was _your_ mistake. Her whole life, all she'd ever wanted was to be famous. And now that she'd finally gotten exactly what she wanted, all she wanted was to be _your_ girl. And, now that you finally wanted the same thing... You couldn't have it, and that hurt more than anything you could've told her. You knew that this was affecting her, but didn't she get it? She wasn't the only one who you were hurting.

Didn't she know how much it killed you inside to do this to her? To yourself? You didn't want to tell her these things... Her heart wasn't the only one breaking. Not that you had much of a heart to break. But you were doing this for her own good, and someday she'd see that. She'd see that and realize how much you cared about her. They say if you love something enough, you'll be able set it free. And, while you're not sure that this is exactly what you're doing... or, for that matter, how exactly it is that you feel about her... You care, at the very least, and you like her a lot more than you should. You've always been a rule-bender like that. But you don't think you love her. You were sort of cutting her free from yourself. It didn't mean anything, though, because you knew she'd just come back. You cared enough to walk away from her, but she cared too much to let you go. Only you had to try hard to let her go and make her stay away for her own safety. You were not the guy to get mixed up with at this crucial juncture in her career. You knew the horrible things the tabloids would say about it once they got wind of it, and they always did. You wanted to shelter her from that horrible dark side of this world. You loved her, so you wanted to protect her from every hurt she could ever face. And while you knew that this would only hurt her more... You loved... No!

You cared enough to walk away.

Her eyes, which had been nearly navy with her wrath, had slowly faded to a dull cornflower blue. You didn't like the looks of this. She was normally such a passionate creature, ruled by her emotions, capable of wearing her heart on her sleeve like you only wished you could. But you'd been in this business too long, and you couldn't afford to let your guard down even for a second. You couldn't afford to let some woman, especially an underage girl, of all people, into your heart. You kept it under lock and key for a reason. You'd been burned in the past, and so had the long, long line of women. And... you didn't want that for her. "Just a **pity** kiss. You don't feel the same way I do because I'm _just_ a kid," She murmured forcefully, fighting back tears, voice getting progressively louder and louder. She closed her eyes then, willing the creeping tears to go back, to disappear. She didn't want to cry in front of you.

No, girl, you wanted to say. You wanted to tell her that she had it all wrong. You did feel the same way she did. But you _couldn't_ because she was just a kid. It wasn't right. Of course, you couldn't tell her that either. You couldn't even imagine how you'd stutter those phrases and manage to ruin your meaning. You knew she'd get offended, or she wouldn't understand. She was still too young for such niceties as shades of gray, and far too young to notice such subtleties as the way you fidgeted or looked at her or touched her... She didn't grasp the deeper meanings behind your actions. She forced her startlingly blue, teary eyes wide open then. The fierceness in her stare took you aback, and you were stunned into submission, hypnotized. "Just **say** it!" She shouted, fidgeting horribly as if she wanted to get up but could not find the energy. Say what, you asked yourself. "_Lie_ to me!" She wailed hysterically, her voice breaking and then fading out entirely.

So she knew then. Maybe she did notice after all. And yet... If she knew, then why was she making you tell her this? Maybe she needed you to tell her this so that... she'd get the message. Maybe she needed you to be firm and insistent. Maybe she actually did need to hear this... But, even so, it would still be a lie. You suddenly realized that your feelings for her ran a lot deeper than you would've ever admitted. And would ever, ever admit, even to yourself, you added mentally. She was only seconds away from dissolving into loud, thick, despondent sobs. You didn't want her to be trapped in that Hell from which there was no return. Why was it always a vicious cycle with you two? You needed to act now. So you sighed, looking at her with sorrowful eyes, trying to show her how much you didn't want this... but she didn't seem to notice, consumed by her grief.

She was weeping, openly mourning something between the two of you that could never be. You wished you could take her in your arms and embrace her, cry with her, but you couldn't. If you did that, you knew you would only wind up falling deeper... and you most certainly couldn't afford that. The intensity of the argument flooded rosy, healthy color into her cheeks. But your argument was anything but healthy for the both of you. Her eyes were a stormy, resentful blue-green, and they were deep and full... like two oceans of sorrow. You walked closer to her because it was necessary. Not just because you wanted to.

Even though you did, and it was killing you. You gulped, thinking very carefully about what you were going to say next. By some miracle, you could form the words, and once you had the full two sentences in your thoughts, set in stone, you spoke. But first, you bent down to her level, grabbing her hands gently. You made sure to look her straight in the eye, even though she kept trying to look down. You made her look at you in a passive-aggressive sort of way. You gazed at her gently, compassionately, trying to make her see, one last time, just how much you cared about her.

And you weren't the kind of guy to throw the L-word around, but you did love her on at least a basic level. Maybe not the head-over-heels crazy type of love just yet, but you could see it happening. You loved her as a person, as a friend... but not like a little sister, because there was something incestuous about thinking of her like that. And not like a woman, because you'd never been in love with anyone, and you weren't starting now. You loved her, but you weren't in love with her. Not yet, at least, but if things kept progressing the way they seemed to be heading... It was a likelier possibility than you'd like to admit. You couldn't remember the last time you'd cared about someone this much, and that terrified you. But you weren't in love with her.

It all seemed so unfathomable to you, the depths of your abnormal feelings for this one girl. You couldn't believe it. After all, you hadn't even slept with her, and you were still so... It wasn't healthy in the slightest. You weren't healthy then, either. You were sick, unwell in the head, to be even contemplating this... to be feeling this way towards someone like her. Thinking thoughts like these and having obsessions like her sent many a man to jail. She was so young. It wasn't right. You reeked of guilt. It was wrong, but it felt so... right, so normal... So absolutely perfect. And you hated yourself for that. After all, you weren't a pedophile, at least that's what you told yourself, but then again... you were. Weren't you?

It was driving you insane. She was driving you insane. You wondered if she knew that. But as you looked her in the eyes, you knew that she didn't. She had no idea how much power she had over you. She had no idea how she could sway your thoughts, all your beliefs about yourself and the world... and, of course... your passions. You were a man of many passions, and you threw yourself into them. She was suddenly so close, her form looming so near in your vision. You wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real. It was strange. She looked like a mirage to your hungry eyes, too good to be true. You wanted... You wanted so many things. You wanted to devour her, to crush her, to ruin her, to take her, to have her, to own her.

You wanted to possess her forever like she was a precious treasure. And she was, worth more to you than any amount of gold or diamonds. You think she would've been worth so much to you even if you weren't rich. You could acquire and accumulate as much money as you wanted if you were greedy enough and powerful enough. But you could search the world and never find a woman even an iota like her. So it was that she was invaluable to you and worth more to you than any earthly riches because she knew you and somehow loved you anyways, in spite of **everything**. So she became your gleaming ruby, your shimmering emerald, your shining sapphire. It was she who convinced you that you could love. She was your reward, your light at the end of the tunnel... She was your sparkling _diamond_.

And you'd never realized that you were so sappy, but it was true, at least most of it, and the whole of it would've made a wondrous song. But you couldn't do any of those things you wanted to do to her, and you were all too aware of that one fact standing in the way of all of your fantasies. So, instead, you did your best to show her that you were being sincere and that you honestly did care. She was so beautiful, achingly so. It hurt you to look at her and know that you could never... Enough stalling, you told yourself finally. It must be done. "Either I have to quit working with you, or I can stay," You proposed earnestly, speaking to her in a soft, deeply pained voice, leaning forward just barely. Your foreheads almost touched. It wasn't much of an offer though, and it wasn't much of a choice. You were so troubled. It was a miserable ultimatum, but you wondered if she even grasped what you had implied by the first part. It wasn't nearly as bad, nor nearly as ominous, being with you, as you had made it sound. But you weren't counting on her to notice the things you'd implied. You said them without saying them aloud for a reason.

You implied that she had a choice. You implied that you could be together if you quit working with her. And indeed, you could... by law. But you weren't that kind of guy, not like you'd been earlier. So you knew it would never work. She was better off just having you in her life as her mere friend, her rock, her stabilizing influence, her inspiration... rather than not at all. If you got together with her, you knew you'd only screw up and do something stupid like cheat on her. And then you two would break up, and you'd never, ever see her again. As much as it scared you to admit it, you needed her in your life. Desperately. She made you feel things like happiness that you hadn't felt in years. She made you care in ways you never had before, about anything! So you exhaled softly, watching the emotions flitting across her face, and taking a deep breath.

You waited momentarily for a response with bated breath, a response that she predictably did not give, before carrying on as you must. Her bangs clung damply to her forehead, and her elaborate hairstyle was ruined, slowly curling up at the ends. Her eye make-up had bled around her eyes, emphasizing the dark circles that had already been there (as a result of sleep deprivation at your own hands), making her eyes stand out more than ever. Her wet eyes were an impossible hue of sky blue, and they glowed with a strange, unearthly iridescence. She was so beautiful. And you could look, but you couldn't touch. You fought hard to keep the tremor from your voice and the tears from your own eyes. After all, you had to keep up this façade that you were frozen, buried under a mountain of ice. You couldn't let her see how hard this was for you, how... even now, you were wavering in your beliefs. She had to think you were unyielding and resolute in your decision.

Even if you weren't. "But we have to agree that that kiss **never** happened," You stressed huskily, hearing your voice almost break, not sounding half as strong as you wanted to, making a stupid hand gesture so she'd maybe understand it better. You forced yourself to look her in the eyes while you said it. Even if you knew it'd hurt her more. She had to know that you meant it, really meant it. And maybe, you shouldn't have told her that. You should've known, what with reverse psychology and all... You swore it vehemently, and you vowed "never" like it was the worst expletive ever spoken. And to you... as it was to her... it was the most awful word you could've ever said. With that one word, you ruined it all. You had no right to ask her, no, to tell her... to order her to do that so... so callously.

It was an undeniable fact now. But you couldn't look at her right after you said that. Doing that would only make the wound ache worse than it already did. Rub salt in the wound, bleed yourself with parasites, gouge out the flesh until blood pours from you as if you were a flagellant. You're a masochist. You take pleasure in hurting yourself, and for a long time in your life, you were a very instable and self-destructive guy. You did everything to the point of it becoming unhealthy. Too much exercise, too much sex, too many drugs, too much alcohol, too many fights. After all, what was one more injection? One more pill? One more cigarette? One more drink? One more brawl? Hell, what was one more _girl... _some insipid virgin who thought the world of you and let you do whatever you wanted to her... to you back then? What was one more girl worth to you **now**?

In the case of this one... everything. She nodded weakly, sniffling, a deluge of tears streaming down her face. "I know," She mumbled brokenly. And it was then that you knew her heart had just broken in two all over again. He had ripped it apart into little pieces of confetti, but you were the one who stomped out every vestige of life left in the bloody pulp. And no words could express how much you hated yourself for that. She looked down and away from you, unable to look at the shadow of a man who'd just broken her heart. Needless to say, you felt like a real prize. But you had to make her understand. You had to make her see.

You had to make her promise. She wasn't like you in that respect. She never broke her promises. So you just kept reminding yourself that she deserved so, so, so much better than you. And you needed her to promise because you knew how this could get out of hand so fast. She had a tendency of bringing things up in arguments, of throwing your words against you. And who knows what would happen if anyone overheard such an argument? She would have to get a new producer... You would have to get a lawyer... And she wouldn't be in your life anymore.

That was the worst part of all. You cared about the other stuff, all right, but that was all nothing compared to the thought of never seeing her again. You couldn't do it. So your hands slid to her wrists, grasping them tightly in your hands, you pulled her to her feet. She fought you at first, but not half as much as you would've liked. She continued to struggle, even after she was standing against her will. "Jude, **say** it!" You implored urgently, clutching her thin, delicate wrists hard enough to bruise, and needing so badly to hear her say it. To hear her promise, to admit it, to accept your offer. You fought with her, as she shook her wrists and flung her arms, trying fruitlessly to escape you. But some things, including the truth, are inescapable.

She didn't want to say it. That would make it real. That would make this pain she was carrying around real, and her heartbreak increase twofold. It was easier to live with if she didn't have to say it out loud. But here you were, making her, ruining this already catastrophic night for her even more. She fought it, crying as if the world was ending, clutching her heart as if she was dying. Had anyone else been around to witness this fight (and you seriously hoped that no one had, since she wasn't even trying to be quiet), that person would've thought she was being overly dramatic, that this wasn't the big spectacle she was making it out to be. That it wasn't a big deal.

But you then you looked at her, forcing her to look back. She did look back, too, tears streaming down her face like the rain had earlier. And she saw that that was what you needed to hear. So... She relented. She gave in. She broke. For you. Because, heaven help her, she loved you. On some level, at least, she loved you. So she pretended like she understood, and she tried to make herself understand. Only she didn't. Not really. She was still too young for that. "Okay," She choked out slowly.

It was so hard for her. She paused, and you gave her a look, urging her to go on. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Okay," She croaked weakly. But she still didn't say it. She didn't say anything. She was still getting used to the idea that you, the man of her dreams, had kissed her and that her boyfriend had dumped her... all in the same night. Now she had to get used to the idea of you rejecting her all over again. One giant step forward, two giant steps back. You needed her to say it. Now.

So you shot her another one of those famous pleading looks of yours, and you tugged on her wrists a little harder than you should've. And suddenly, she was so furious with you. She couldn't take it anymore. "**Okay**!" She exploded, nodding, nearly overcome by tears and very nearly wrestling with you. Her glistening eyes flashed a shocking cobalt, and she tried in vain to tear her arms out of your iron grip. You were probably hurting her, but your words had already hurt her anyways... so what was the difference? You held her still, held her in place, and forced her to look you in the eyes. Seeing your eyes broke her will for good, and her eyes softened, turning a passive blue-gray. "It never happened," She whispered disconsolately, taking the opportunity to rip her wrists out of your slackened grip.

A part of you couldn't believe that she'd actually said that. Another part of you couldn't believe you'd made her say that. And the biggest part of you couldn't believe that you'd thoroughly devastated her and made what he'd done to her seem like child's play. He was just an amateur, after all. You're the master at breaking girls' hearts in new and different ways. And, however unfortunately, she was no exception to that rule. Her heart lay in pieces at your feet, obvious culpability etched into your face. Less than a second had passed, but it seemed like forever to your surprised brain. "Okay?" She questioned ironically, voice filled with bitter disapproval. That's when you knew you'd made a mistake by pushing her away, but you made lots of mistakes, so you just let it go like you always did.

She, however, was a wild card. She whirled around and nearly flew out the door, deliberately letting your jacket fall to the floor with a soft thwap. She ripped one of the posters down carelessly, feeling that restless destructiveness you knew all too well. She made sure to slam all the doors behind her, so you could hear each one. And when you heard that last door, the big one, close with an eerie finality... You were left all alone to your own thoughts and devices. But you were still thinking about her. You couldn't help it.

And you were thinking about how her parents and her friends had already left long ago. And how maybe the janitor was the only person left here... Maybe not even Georgia or E.J. was left over. Your mind started to race, imagining terrible scenarios that could possibly unfold. After all, your mother always told you that bad things happened in sets of three. So that meant that she was due for another one, and she didn't need that right now. She didn't deserve that right now.

You didn't want to think about what could happen to her, or about how she could possibly get home without a car or a ride. Somehow, every scenario you imagined involved a naïve Jude asking someone for help... someone who took advantage of her. And in each and every one of these mental pictures, she wound up in some horrible state, each worse than the last. Drugged, beat up, kidnapped, raped, left for dead. You didn't want to worry, and you knew it was irrational to do so, but you'd just... You'd feel better if you knew what happened to her. So maybe it was rational to worry, but the chances of any of those things happening to her were remote. After all, Toronto was a safe city with one of the lowest crime rates in the world for a city of its size.

But still... It was an awfully long way to her house. Especially if she was walking. And walking alone down deserted alleyways in the darkness, wearing a skintight dress like _that_ and looking like _that_... You could only imagine what those creeps would want to do to her. You knew men like that because, on some level, they were predators... kind of like yourself. Hell, you knew what **you** wanted to do to her, and the things those sort of guys wanted to do were ten times as bad. There was no telling what could happen to her.

So, all in all, you'd feel an awful lot better if you knew she was safe. Especially if you could see that for yourself. And what better way to find out than if you were able to give her a ride home? So, thinking on your feet, you nearly ran out of the room, sensing the urgency of the moment, picking up your jacket on the way out. On an afterthought, you picked up the torn flier as a souvenir of the night. You had a feeling you'd vividly remember the night anyways, and that you'd wind up keeping yourself warm at night with the mere memories of that toe-curling, wild kiss on the fire escape in the rain... like something out of a sappy romance movie. But a little souvenir never hurt, and you needed something concrete to remember this night.

So you carefully picked it up off the ground. You ran a tired hand through your hair, messing up the wet strands a little. You shrugged your black blazer on for warmth... and because it smelled like her. Mmm... roses. You loosened your tie slightly, so you could breathe better. Then you hurried out of G. Major like a bat out of hell. Your eyes burned bright, and your breath wasn't very labored at all. You felt a sudden burst of energy, driven by the urge to find her and find her soon. You wanted to accomplish that goal very much.

And... maybe, just maybe... if you really hustled, you could still catch her.

Loren ;

Reviews will be highly appreciated. Especially as tomorrow is the author's birthday. ;) Not that I'm trying to bribe you or anything, but a review would be such a nice present! Anyways, review if you feel like it. I'm not gonna pressure you. Thanks for reading!


	2. Hey Jude

Okay, so, phew, I am finally done with this chapter! I was all in a sweat to get it done, too, since yesterday was my dear friend Six's birthday. And she got me a present for mine, so it's only fair, right? ;) Although this chapter is thirty pages... like three times as long as the last chapter. I apologize for that, but I knew this was going to be a long one, and please excuse it if there are any errors, but it's really late/early, and I'm tired. I've been writing most of the day. I also apologize if the end part sucks, 'cause a lot of that was me trying to incorporate the dialogue that I wrote out before. Also, there may be errors and such, because my powercord is evil and refuses to actually charge my computer. Or the other way around. Who knows?

Now, you get to find out pretty soon what happens in this chapter. It gets cleared up a lot more in the next chapter, since Tommy doesn't know much. I will say one thing: I really, really, really love this chapter. I think it may be the crudest and most sensual thing I've ever written... at times. And there are allusions all over the place. See if you can spot them! ;) And there are well, remotely funny bits, but it's pretty depressing. If you don't like depressing stories, well, then, you're in the wrong place. I'd put this under tragedy, only no one dies. And I don't think they'll always be sad. There will be some anger and what not. And some parts of it may seem really repetitive because Tommy struggles with a lot of things, especially guilt. And there's some little childhood mentionings and random song lyrics and stuff thrown in, just to make it fun. (laughs)

I almost named this chapter "The Hardest Thing". Just occurred to me, but sort of fits the tone of the chapter. But you know, 98 Degrees or The Beatles... It's not rocket science, my friends. Especially since "Hey Jude" is such a sonic masterpiece, and I love it, and I wrote this little section that corresponds to it. That being said, it's waaaay too upbeat for this chapter. Lol. So play your depressing music. Whip out the sad boyband songs, get the French ballads, your Alanis, your Leah Andreone, your Fiona Apple, Evanescence. Happy is not what we aim for, people. That's the beauty in it. Sorry if I sound a bit nuts, but I've been writing all day and fighting an often losing battle, and my headphones won't stay in my ears.

But what I like about this is that no one has ever used this plot. People have done remotely similar themes, but not like this. It makes me feel original and incredibly avant-garde. Lol. Except I'm not.

Now, to explain a few things. This is also in second-person, and the "you" in question is Tommy. Jude and other people are generally referred to by name in this chapter. As for the timeline, this chapter takes place the day after Jude's Un-Sweet Sixteen. A chapter written in first-person Jude POV will follow it, and it will take place on the same day, and it picks up a few minutes after this chapter ends. Now, since Tommy only lives in Toronto temporarily (so he thinks), he lives in the penthouse suite of a hotel. It's nice and has several rooms.

That all being said (and I seriously apologize if any of that is misspelled... but I'm typing with one hand, holding my powercord in with the other, and generally trying to avoid the low battery sign)... This chapter's dedicated to Six, my wonderful co-conspirator, wishing her a happy birthday. Because I give my internet friends all the thoughtful gifts: songs, poems, writings, a huge-ass chapter, an email with birthday cake pictures... aren't I thoughtful? Lol, seriously, it's only my real friends that I stay up for (getting a handcramp). So, happy birthday, Six! Hope you like your present!

* * *

The first sensation you became aware of upon opening your eyes was a mildly throbbing headache. You didn't even want to open your eyes to face the world, so you kept them shut. What was so good about daylight anyways, you thought darkly as the sunlight hit you square in the eyes. You must've imbibed a little too much champagne at Jude's party last night. You only remember having two glasses, though. Two glasses isn't that much, especially for you... You don't even get buzzed off of that. Your head shouldn't hurt like this. And then it all came to you in one bright, horrific flash... Shay breaking up with Jude, almost kicking Shay's ass, you kissing Jude in the alleyway, sneaking liquor in your office, and then, of course... the bitter denial. You really screwed up this time. She must hate you.

Not that you can blame her. If it hadn't been so... worth it... You might hate myself a little more than you already do. You hate yourself a lot. You can't believe that you actually did it. You can't believe you kissed her like that. Did you completely lose your mind last night? How could you have possibly been so stupid? What was it that you told Kwest...? Ah, right. You told him that she was too young, out of bounds. You're not "That Guy", you'd said. Well, apparently you were That Guy. Great, just great. Now you're a freaking hypocrite, on top of being a pervert. Some guy you are.

You had previously been sleeping on your stomach, head buried face first in the pillow. But that brilliant light of truth kept hitting you between the eyes. You'd stupidly left the blinds open. So you placed your head underneath your pillow in the vain hope of getting back to sleep. You felt tired, and you didn't want to face a world knowing what you'd done. You preferred this oblivion of dreams, where anything could happen. You shifted and suddenly realized that your side was slightly sore. Groaning, you turned over on your back, yawning and stretching. You bit back the cry from your lips, flinching in pain. You must've pulled something.

You fell back unto the pillow, grunting, but still not wanting to get up. It was some ungodly hour of the day. You were best off sleeping. You hadn't been doing much of that lately in between the late nights at the clubs, your numerous sexual encounters, and even more numerous late nights at the studio. Plus, there was the annoying fact that even when there was another person in your bed, you were kept awake at nights with thoughts of _her_. You thought of _her_ too often, and more often than not, you thought of how very wrong it was to think of _her_ at all. You screwed your eyes shut tighter and concentrated hard on going back to sleep, but it didn't work.

Since you figured that you did, after all, have to go to work at some point, you opened one eye, peering at your clock. No matter how much you didn't want to go to work, you had an obligation to Georgia. Freelance or not, she was your friend, and you were doing her a favor. You owed her big time. She most certainly had some project for you to do. Besides, you reasoned, after all that had happened last night, Jude probably wasn't going to come there anyways. This was all well and good because you didn't want to face her at all. Not after what you'd done to her. You didn't think you could see her so soon after it. You didn't want to see how much you hurt her. She was going to hate you anyways, and you two would never get any real work done. Unless you wanted to help her in writing a song about yourself, and you had the nasty feeling that would bring some unwanted emotions to the surface.

The glaring red light of your alarm clock flashed 11:46 three times before it changed to 11:47. You wrinkled your nose, still feeling bone-weary. Okay, so you were supposed to be at work at 8:30, but you usually got there seconds before the stroke of nine anyways. You had been blessed with an artist was usually later than you were, who also happened to be in school most days at this time, so you could afford it. Ugh. You have to stop thinking about Jude. It's not healthy, especially when even the littlest things like the time drive you to it. You supposed that you ought to get up sometime, so you forced both of your eyes open and sat up a little. You stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, sighing. The bed was so... comfortable and so... warm. And it was Sunday, the biblical day of rest, was it not? There was nothing more you wanted to do than to lie in bed all day just because you could. But, you remembered, you had some serious mixing to do that you'd put off in lieu of Jude's birthday bash. Shows you what your priorities are, now doesn't it? Or rather, _who_...

You shook the stupid, useless thought from your head vigorously. Thinking things like that surely weren't helping your cause any. It wasn't making anything easier on you. The less you thought about Jude, the better. Especially since you'd kissed her. If you kept thinking about her, you'd be just as likely to lose control again. And you can't have that happening again, now can you? You really did not want to wake up, but it became a necessity. It was rare to find you in bed not thinking about Jude. The idleness left you with too much time to think, so your thoughts always focused on her. She was a mystery you wanted to solve, after all, so great contemplation was a prerequisite. Only that's a horrible excuse. You rarely contemplated anything with such a degree of depth, that was certain. Save Jude, who had you so confused that you had to ponder it out, just to debate the morality of entangling yourself in an affair with her. Anyways, you couldn't go back to sleep... not without being plagued by thoughts of her, that is.

If not in your conscious, then in your subconscious, where your deepest feelings and thoughts were wont to frolic. All of a sudden, you heard a soft noise that ripped you from your reverie. It had not sounded from your own lips. This alerted you to the fact that there was someone else in your bed. Hopefully and most probably a woman. You are definitely no stranger to waking up with a strange woman in your bed who claimed to have had sex with you. Actually, they usually have, in fact, had sex with you, nailed the legendary Little Tommy Q. This is why you are also no stranger to forgetting the details of sleeping with that woman. Sure, you remember how the parts fit and other such vital details, but everything becomes fuzzy after ten drinks. And, Hell, you're no stranger to even forgetting her name. In fact, it's usually pretty odd of you to remember such a _small_ thing. Names, to you, are small... They don't tell you anything about the person. None of the bed-hopping's personal to you. They don't matter to you, and you don't matter to them. You use them to get laid, and they use you because you have a big name, and you know how to please a girl. It's really as simple as that. It's a life of meaningless flings night after night, if you haven't collapsed from exhaustion. And it's a pathetic, wasted life that's even more hollow than your acoustic.

The woman pressed her soft, smooth, bare skin against yours, which is how you were able to tell that she was a woman. You felt your lust returning. You were hungry and insatiable. Women weren't safe around you, even if they were asleep. The feeling of her against you was enticing. The woman rolled over in her sleep, groaning slightly but strangely unafraid to snuggle up to you. You weren't a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you disliked cuddling with a passion. It was just sex. It was better off without having those annoying feelings mixed up in it. Still, there was something beautiful about her that... softened you. Her auburn hair acted as a curtain, blocking her face from your vision as she buried her face in your chest. If you didn't know she was unconscious, you would've thought that she was being a tease. You smiled then, satisfied, thinking that explained how you were slightly sore. So this girl had been a wildcat. You frowned then because you usually remembered the wild ones. Maybe she hadn't been that good...

But somehow, you knew that wasn't true at all. You tried in vain to remember, but the memories didn't come to you. It was almost as if you had blocked them all out. You knew she was something special just by the way that she looked. This one _really_ looked like her. You have this shameful secret to confess... For the past few months, you had been no stranger to waking up with a redhead in your bed. The brighter the hair, the better. It's obvious why, isn't it? So that's why you didn't immediately freak when there was a redhead in your bed. _Jude_, you thought, feeling a brief pang of guilt. You felt like you'd cheated on her somehow, even if you weren't dating her. It was wrong to use women like this, to lead them on. But you led women on all the time, so you got over it. But there was just something about this one that really struck you, reminding you of who she was meant to replace. And in your head, when you looked at this girl, you kept calling her Jude, even though you were sure that wasn't her name. She seemed like such a nice, innocent girl, a lot like your girl that way. You didn't want to lead her on too... You felt low, really low, so you decided to tell her to leave. If it wasn't your room, you would've left. She wasn't... well... She wasn't _her_.

The girl, however, was blissfully still asleep, and she seemed to have no intentions of leaving. You envied her in that respect. She seemed so at home here... with you, in your bed, in your room. Even you weren't that at home here. You were staying in a hotel, and even though you weren't living out of your suitcases... You felt like you were just biding your time here. It was a hotel room, even if it was a luxurious penthouse suite in one of the best hotels in Toronto. And it seemed so impersonal. You didn't really have any trinkets laying around. There were no personal affects to speak of, really. No, that wasn't true. There were pictures on your desk. One of your family, one of you and the band, and one of you and some of your friends. There were pictures of you and Jude in the drawers. You kept them there like a secret menace, lonely and frameless. There were dozens of them, though. In some respects, it was like a collection of pornography. You would stare at her picture for hours some nights to inspire you. Both habits were unhealthy, but your dirty little secret resulted in nine full journals. You'd only known her for a little more than four whole months... Damn, she was supposed to be the prolific one of you two.

But, for a guy who had retired from singing... You sure wrote an awful lot of songs... chords and everything.

In fact, just to prove how at home the woman was with you, she absentmindedly ran a hand up your chest, entwining her smooth legs with yours. She seemed so comfortable with invading your personal space that you almost didn't want to move. There was, after all, still time enough for another round, you thought with a mischievous grin. You smirked, casually slinging an arm around her waist and drawing her nearer to you. The air had a heady, humid quality to it, a souvenir of the abnormally warm winter Toronto was experiencing. The smell of sex was oppressive and strong, but you didn't mind. That musky, sweaty odor seemed to linger around you anyways as a natural cologne. Your skin felt sticky, and you had the sudden urge to take a shower. Maybe, you thought enterprisingly, looking at the woman... maybe she'd help you get clean... Then, as you were thinking this, the girl in question stirred, flinging her hair backwards, off her face. And it was then that you finally managed to catch sight of her face.

It was a very familiar face, and that never meant anything good. She had pale, creamy skin that was flecked with tiny freckles. It seemed to stretch on like this forever, undisturbed, an endless expanse of perfect, silky skin. It almost appeared to glow as it had, you recollected suddenly, after you had finished with her. Her hair was a slick and shiny blood-red mass of dark crimson curls. Her long eyelashes fluttered briefly in her sleep as she sighed softly, her breath flitting across your upper abdomen. She seemed so peaceful and so calm in the depths of slumber, unlike the wild hellion you thought her to be. Vestiges of last night's mascara and eye-liner lingered on her heavily closed eyelids, and these were the only signs that made her even remotely recognizable. This apparent carelessness was the only sign that she wasn't the delicate flower she seemed to be. Her lips were soft, inviting pink and swollen from your kisses. Staring at her bee-stung lips, you wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. Instead, however, you refrained by biting down painfully on your bottom lip, chastising yourself for even thinking up such a frivolity. You gazed admiringly at fresh scarlet bruises where you'd left your mark on her slender neck last night. Your nose brushed against her neck as you bent down to smell her skin. Just as you suspected, she smelled strongly of roses. You couldn't see her eyes, but you already knew that they were a piercing shade of blue.

You would recognize those features anywhere. They've been burned into your mind. For, unfortunately for you, this was no random woman. She was a girl, _your_ girl. Of all the girls in the world, you had to pick this one! It suddenly occurred to you that maybe you'd known it was her somewhere deep in your subconscious. Maybe you hadn't really forgotten what had happened last night after all. Maybe you'd deliberately forced it from your memory so you wouldn't have to face... this. Whatever _this_ was.

So it turned out that the mysterious woman you'd woken up in bed with was no woman at all... She was just a girl, but more importantly, she was... _Jude_. You swallowed hard, feeling the cold guilt beginning to rise up in you like a slow death. "Hey Jude" suddenly had a whole new, terrifying meaning.

It took at least a good minute for the horror of what you had done to sink into your skull. Normally, it would've come to you sooner, but at first you thought you were hallucinating. It seemed so unreal, you waking up to something you'd been wanting since... well, since when, exactly? You thought that by thinking Jude's name, you had magically conjured her there. It seemed so unbelievable to you that it must be a dream, or in your case, a nightmare. So your first thoughts were happy, celebratory ones. You tightened your arm around her protectively, drawing her closer to you... just because you could. She was obviously not wearing a stitch of clothing underneath that tangled sheet, and you knew what that had to mean... But somehow, it didn't register to you as being wrong. Here she was, in your arms, finally, and it felt so much better than it ever had. She was really there. So you pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming.

Only you didn't wake up, and it hurt. And that's when it truly occurred to you what this was. This was your worst nightmare come to life. You'd lost all control and done something so horrible that you cannot mention it, even in your thoughts. You don't want to think about it, this deplorable thing you've done. Besides, it's illegal, so you're better off not thinking of it anyways.

That's a cop-out, though, and you know it. So you forced yourself to admit it in your head. You had sex with Jude. There's absolutely no getting around that fact. When that hit you, smacked you in the face really, your immediate reaction was to sit up straight in bed. You ripped your arm from her waist as if you had been burned and shifted away from her as best as you could. It was like she was poison, and you had to stay away. As you sat there, unable to be free of her, the black sin darkened over your head. You were a child molester! You took advantage of her! You had taken her innocence away, had taken something that she could never get back. She didn't deserve that. It... it shouldn't have happened like this. You know you were just kidding yourself by denying it, thinking that it could never happen. Only it could and it did. It should've been different. The timing's not right at all... even criminally wrong. You should have been in love with her. She should have been with someone who's sure of his feelings, not like you. Not like you, who's barely even sure that you care about her. You don't love her, though. You probably don't even know how to love, but this girl is as close as it gets for you. You wish you loved her just like you wish that you could make this all disappear... To make life better for her from now on.

Only you can't, so you have to face the black sin of what you did head-on. You have to accept the consequences, whatever they may be. So here's the sober facts of it: You could lose your job for this. Not that you're particularly fond of your job... It's not your life or anything (only it sort of is), and you have plenty of money left over from your ass-shaking days... but some scandal like this could prevent you from working anywhere. You want to be seen as more than that guy you were before. You've changed. You're different now. If this ever gets out, your reputation would forever be tarnished. Not that it's sterling or anything... It's more of a dark, mossy green, really, but... This is something it would never recover from. And it's bad enough because you know you deserve it. No matter how much you say that you aren't That Guy, you are. Your own hypocrisy makes you sick. It's bad enough that you're going to have to live with this.

How can you live with it, then, when you can barely live with yourself most days? This isn't fair to Jude, you can't help but think. It isn't fair to anyone. But, Hell, you could go to jail for this! So you didn't really have a choice. Funny, isn't it? You'd kept thinking that last night, but now, it was really true. You had absolutely no idea what to do. Your back was pretty much flat against a brick wall here, and your options didn't look good. Your screwing around had resulted in you being screwed. You wanted Jude in your life, and you wanted that... her... desperately. But you couldn't do that, or else you'd risk starting up something stupid like this again. You don't want to hurt her again, and it's a vicious cycle with you two. You know it'd be better off for you to leave, to remove that temptation, to remove the cause of her pain... Except you know that your leaving would devastate her in another way. You don't want what she said last night to be right. You want to prove that you can be relied upon and trusted, even though you can't. You need to show her that you won't just leave her when things get tough... That men in general won't just bail on her when hard times come.

If you left, if you stopped being her producer... Her music would suffer without her muse, her best critic, her biggest fan, her best friend, and sole arbitrator of her music all rolled into one. The producer-artist relationship was a volatile one, and you and Jude were surely no exception. You couldn't leave, though, even if it'd make things easier. You'd feel like you'd let down Georgia. Georgia, who was one of the few people to ever, ever put any faith in you. But moreover, you and Jude were achieving greatness on that album, and you'd be selling the both of you short just to leave in the middle of it. You wanted to be known for something other than being in a boyband and breaking girls' hearts. Well, you were doing a lovely job of that, now weren't you?

However, if you leave... Then you technically could legally be with her, since you weren't in a position of authority over her any more. But that was too easy. People wouldn't look at you the same. And you'd just screw it up anyways. It was better off and more stable to have her as a friend. You see, you don't think you could be with her then anyways. You'd still feel, deep down in your heart, that you were taking advantage of her. And no one would understand. Hell, you don't even understand half the time. All you know is that she gets you, and that's all that matters. No one ever gets you. And you'd be proving yourself wrong by pursuing her 'cause then you'd be That Guy. You hated That Guy with a passion, but you hated even more that he was you.

You can't take the easy way out of this one like you did last night. You can't deny it. And worst of all, you thought, you were going to hurt her even more. There was no chance you'd ever fix this. Girls got more emotionally involved after... And Jude was already so invested in you. Your relationship was on the verge of unhealthy codependency. If you got any more wrapped up in her... Then what? Your heart of ice would finally melt? So you fought it in your bones at the most basic level. But you knew that as much as you wanted to... You couldn't deny this. It was impossible. And you couldn't forget either. At that thought, a cool panic ran through your veins. God, had you even used protection? What if she...

After this, your immediate reaction was to flee the room, then your suite, then the hotel, then the city, then the country. Then maybe you would try to follow in the path of fellow boybander Lance and try to leave the planet. Maybe you could establish a colony on the moon. You didn't even care that it was _your_ place. You needed to get out, and you needed to get air. Damn it if you didn't have the strongest craving for a cigarette. However, since the girl was currently half on top of you, you found escape to be nearly impossible. Especially as you wanted to leave before she woke up, so she might perhaps think that she'd dreamed it all... Yes, that sounded just perfect. That was your goal, and unless you moved very, very carefully, it was an improbable one. You, however, decided to try it anyways, so you shifted slowly, scooting over and cautiously moving Jude further unto the bed.

Unbelievably, your not so ingenious plan worked. You were finally off and out of your bed, and Jude was wrapped up in your sheets, slumbering peacefully. She looked so innocent and sweet laying there, oblivious to the world and what you'd done to her. You almost didn't want to leave. And suddenly, you found yourself reaching down with an uncharacteristic softness and gently stroking her hair. She smiled in your sleep, and you had the nasty feeling that was the last time you'd see her smile for a while. You frowned at the thought and tousled her hair more playfully than was proper. She was obviously not a light sleeper... Maybe you could get a shower in before you have to face her.

It'd be easier to face her with her smell off of you. It'd be easier to deny it if you were clean, and your skin wasn't sticky from the remnants of that forbidden act. You'd feel better about yourself if you were clean. Plus, at least you wouldn't be in the room. You needed an escape and a shower seemed to be just the remedy for such a need. Only, what if you could never get clean? What if this misdeed clung to your skin like a stubborn pigment and left a permanent stain on your character? Who are you kidding? Your character was already black with soot. There was no way the dirty deed wouldn't leave its mark.

You escaped to the shower, retiring to the relaxing steam of solitude. You intended to let the water cleanse your blackened conscience and rinse the evidence of your sins. You wanted to be free of this burden upon your soul and absolved from your guilt. The scalding hot water ran over your sore muscles, relieving some of the tension. It relieved some of your woes, but not near enough. Your back was so straight; it hurt to keep your spine so upright. But your spine had to be so upright, didn't it, to make up for your lack of moral uprightness? The near-boiling water, giver of life and bringer of death, sanitized you. It felt like a penance as it seared your nerve endings, but you knew it would never burn you like you had scarred her. You scrubbed your skin raw, clawing at it desperately... but her smell wouldn't come off.

Eventually, though, you came out of the shower, lazily wrapping a towel around your waist, dripping wet and unaccustomed to the cool of your bathroom floor. The air in the room was heavy with heat and mist. You stepped forward and took a good, hard look in the mirror. You didn't like what you saw. Imagine that. You were red in the face, and your skin was hot. You shivered a little in the air, feeling a chill. Then you thought of her, still in your bed, unaware. You had to face her sometime, but you didn't want to now. It seemed too soon, but the time would come sooner or later. It had to come. You started pacing, feeling feverish, running your hands through your hair anxiously. Your thoughts flew at the speed of sound, jumping from synapse to synapse, leaping from neuron to neuron.

But eventually your skin resumed its normal color, and the bathroom's air cleared out. You cooled down. And you knew, like that, that it was time to leave. It was time to talk to her. You couldn't avoid it or prolong it any longer. The time was now. You sighed, looking heavenward, muttering a prayer under your breath. You ran through the catechism you'd learned as a mere child, asking God for forgiveness, admitting that you'd done wrong. You weren't a religious man, but you were scared to death. So you prayed for yourself to save your own ass, but mostly, you prayed for her. You felt all those old words you'd renounced, the ones you hadn't spoken for years, bubbling back up in you.

Murmuring prayers alternating with curses under your breath, you strode into your bedroom. The words died in your mouth, and you peered at the bed nervously. You were relieved to see that she was still in your bed, soundly asleep. You envied her for a minute, wishing that you could return to that state of blissful ignorance. Or better yet, that you could undo last night. But you can't turn back the clock, and you don't really envy her after all. Because in about five minutes, or whenever she wakes up... whichever happens _last_... you're going to break her heart.

You're going to shatter her, and it couldn't come at a worse time. Sometimes you really hate yourself. But you have to do this. Well... you don't, but you need to. You have to do the right thing. You've never been the kind of guy who does the right thing, but you know when you have to do it. And you have to do it now. Even if you'd rather gouge out your own eyes. Fitting, isn't it? You used to kid yourself, pretending that you only saw her as a little sister. You'd never really seen her as a little sister. If you had, you would've ducked when she tried to kiss you. But that had been the excuse you'd hidden behind when you started getting... dare you say it?... jealous. So it was a sick sort of incest, and like Oedipus, here you were wanting to gouge out your eyes for looking at her... to cut off your hands for touching her... For having sex with her like she was any other woman. Because she wasn't just any other woman to you. She was something special, something delicate, something innocent... something not to be messed with. But you toyed with her anyways like she was a defenseless mouse, and you were the hungry, vicious tomcat. It was wrong! It was _wrong_; you knew it, and you did it anyways. If only you had a brooch.

You're sick. She is a child, and you, the adult, know better. You're over 18. You can vote, smoke, and drink in every country there is. In the eyes of the world, that makes you an adult. And, damn it, when you're an adult... People expect things of you. They expect you to be mature. You're not supposed to act like a selfish little boy anymore. You're not an overgrown, spoiled teenager. Not that that stops you from acting like one. You still brood, sulk, and pout when you don't get your way. You don't whine, and you don't throw temper tantrums anymore... But you fight, and you screw around, and you get wasted. It's what you do. It's how you live. You never really grew up anyways. You didn't have that luxury. But you know better.

You should know better, and you do. So why can't you act like it?

You're contemplating waking her up. You even reached out your hand to touch her, her hair, even... But you refrained. She just looked so peaceful lying there. And you were amazed, staring at her with awe, stunned speechless. The sunlight that was streaming through the windows hit her skin, making it gleam. Her brilliant crimson hair blazed like ruby slippers. She turned over onto her stomach in your bed, twisting her head to face you, eyelashes fluttering softly in her dreams. Her arm dangled over your side of the bed limply while her head rested lightly on your pillow. She was still covered by your sheets, but her movement caused them to slip down her smooth back, revealing inviting skin and the hints of curves. She seemed to you a celestial goddess in that lighting.

You were debating the merits of waking her up when suddenly... she opened her eyes. Her eyes were a sleepy, cloudy blue, and she did not register your presence at first. You were glad. Jude yawned, slowly bringing her arms up over her head and stretching like a cat. Then she opened her eyes, which soon cleared enough to suggest that she was truly awake. She sat up a little in your bed, gathering the sheets around herself before she even saw you. When she finally did see you, she merely blinked and didn't look surprised at all. She smiled slightly, adjusting the sheets around her self-consciously. "Hey, Tommy," She whispered softly, smiling at you innocently, lovingly.

You felt a pang of regret, searing and hot. She couldn't look at you like that. You'd break if she did. Her eyes were so light and soft, making them a pretty turquoise color. Her eyelashes seemed impossibly long, and her hair seemed almost adorably mussed. You smiled weakly, hating the fakeness of the gesture. You looked at her sadly, trying hard not to show your remorse. You wondered if she had even realized what must've happened last night. She wasn't stupid, but she wasn't looking at you like that... differently. She wasn't looking at you any differently. You wiggled your fingers in a half-hearted wave. "Hey, Jude," You crooned too hoarsely, a silly grin on your face.

Jude smiled back at you radiantly. You felt guilty because you didn't deserve it. She was looking at you with such... love... in her eyes that you didn't know what to do. What could you possibly say to her? Right now... nothing. She giggled softly, flushing a flattering pink under your stare. You weren't intending to flatter. You just couldn't... You had to look at her. She looked different to you. At first you couldn't put your finger on it, but then you realized it. She looked _older_. She looked older, and she looked happy. She couldn't stop smiling. You didn't want to ruin that for her. You wanted her to be happy. She deserved to be happy, and you wanted to be the one who made her happy. But you couldn't ever be that guy. You couldn't even make yourself happy, much less anyone else.

She motioned for you to come closer, beaming at you. She was incandescently happy. So you complied with her wishes and stepped closer to the bed, trepidation creeping deeper into your brain with each step. And then you were there, right next to the bed. And Jude smiled at you anew, but it was a different, coy sort of smile. She reached out and grabbed your hand suddenly, lacing her fingers with yours. Her eyes were fixated on your joined hands, and when she first laid eyes on them, you saw her eyes light up like the sun. It was as if a bullet of guilt had pierced your heart, like a modern-day version of Cupid's arrow. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile turned decidedly mischievous. "You know, Tommy," Jude began conspiratorially, giving you a once-over. She continued to let her eyes roam over your form appreciatively, pausing deliberately. She licked her lips sensuously and leaned forward. "You look awfully hot when you're wet," She finished seductively, trailing her free hand over your chest unashamedly.

The gesture was far too familiar for your taste. You realized that you had indeed slept with her, and that nothing was more personal than that... But you weren't used to this kind of behavior from her. From anyone, really... It only served to remind you of the shameful things you had done to her. But the most shameful thing of all was that you were itching to do each and every one of those sinful, bad things to her all over again. You forced the impulse back, but the both of you knew just how much she was affecting you.

So maybe you let your guard down. You knew that she was going to kiss you the second she grabbed your hand. And, though you were loathe to admit it, you wanted her to kiss you _badly_. Your eyes locked with hers in a fatal stare. Her eyes darkened, turning a murky indigo. She slid her hand up the side of your neck, resting her sweaty palm on the back of your neck. Her grasping fingers kneaded the skin there, tracing the bones in your spine all the way down. A surge of heat spread up your backbone at her touch, but you managed to stay under control. Her hand came back up to its former place as she tangled her fingers in the curly hairs at the base of your neck. She pulled you down to kiss her. You could've pulled away, and you probably should have, but you didn't. She pressed her lips against yours, and you responded in kind.

Her lips were softer than you'd remembered. You groaned, nibbling on her bottom lip. She'd gotten better, too, since you'd kissed her last. Since you remembered kissing her last, that is. You must've practiced with her a lot last night. It's slowly coming back to you, little flashes in bits and pieces. Next thing you know, she wrapped her arm around your back. She pulled you against her, dragging you down with her. It felt so good, and for a while, you didn't care about anything other than being here with her. She tasted good, so you attacked her lips, starving for her kisses. You were half on top of her before you realized what was going on. You did not need to repeat last night. It wasn't going to help matters if you did this again.

It would only make things worse, harder, in the end. You couldn't lead her on anymore. So you forced yourself to tear your lips away from hers, to push yourself off and away. You shook your head, wiping your wet lips. You couldn't do this, definitely not again. You looked at her with sad eyes, trying to make her see that you just... couldn't. You sighed, getting up, taking a full step backwards. You couldn't be trusted so close to her anymore. "We _can't_," You murmured wearily, glancing down so that you didn't have to see the confusion in her eyes. You were so tired of telling her this over and over again and then... one of you defying it to feel. You were sick of having this conversation that you never wanted to have. Maybe that was why you kept having to stress those same points; on some level, you didn't even believe yourself. Maybe you never approached it with the proper depth of discussion. You hadn't made yourself clear enough, maybe? Well, that was about to change soon enough... You would be _crystal_ in a few minutes when her heart would break into a million little glass slivers. You couldn't look at her anymore either. It wasn't right to stare with eyes as hungry as yours, the inappropriate want reflected plainly in their icy depths.

It was strange, too, because you'd already had her and yet, you still wanted her. It was never like this with other women. They gave themselves up to you, and you just lost interest. It never changed. That's why your "relationships" (if, indeed, you could call them that) had barely lasted to a month or so. Usually less. Eventually even the sex got routine for you, or if it didn't, something about the girl's personality grated on your last nerve and so you just... broke it off. You thought your ex-wife was different, some four-five years ago. You'd been with her for a few months, and you hadn't gotten sick of her. Of course, she didn't live with you then, and you cheated on her nonetheless. But you thought you were in love with her because she loved you so much. Not because of your name, just because you were you.

And at the time, that had been enough. So you married her because you thought you loved her. You resigned yourself to the fact that this was as close as you were going to get to love, so it must be love. But eventually, even that wasn't enough for your flighty mind. When she moved in, you started arguing all the time. And you were on a very demanding tour at the time (Darius' retribution for your decision to marry his baby sister), so you two weren't really living together. She slept on the tour bus with you some nights, and when you were in town, the two of you holed up in some hotel room to play house. It never lasted long, though. You weren't in a city for more than a week; it was less than a week, in fact, most of the time. Some nights you wouldn't come home. You'd go out to the club and stay there all night. Or you'd wake up in some girl's apartment with no idea how you'd gotten there.

Other times you just brought girls back to the tour bus when Portia wasn't around. The guys knew how to keep a secret, even if they hated you. After all, they knew how self-destructive you were, and they knew that one day you'd eventually destroy yourself anyways. So they didn't care. You just received an occasional lecture from J.P. on how you shouldn't mess around with Big D's sister, or how you shouldn't have married her in the first place. You were so _pissed_ at those little "chats", you remember. You'd almost decked him one day, saying that he wasn't one to talk considering he already had one kid and another on the way. And maybe Chaz glared at you half of the time and stared at you enviously whenever the paparazzi focused all their attention on you. You soaked it all up, absorbed yourself in the fame and all the perks that came with it. Your ego grew to monstrous proportions. And okay, so you had been booed offstage twice; the times were changing. And you also had to endure the snide comments your former friends whispered behind your back... "Little Tommy Screw's at it again!" But it was worth it for the glory.

You really let it get to your head, so you got cocky. You brought girls back to your suite... even when your beloved wife was there. How many times had she walked in on you? You bought her presents to try and make up for it, ever contrite: a ballerina necklace, a new car... But it didn't make it better. And one day, you just got so sick of it all. You got sick of all the fighting and how she hated you so much. You were fed up with the media portraying you as an adulterer. You were beginning to see that your marriage was a sham and had been a mistake from Day One. You wanted to be free, and she was only trying to chain you down. And you didn't love her. So one day, out of the blue, you just... left.

You made sure she didn't know which room you were staying in, had them ban her from the tour bus. And sometimes, when she found out which room you were staying in, you pretended that you weren't there, that you didn't hear her. You ignored the violent strings of insults, the bitter proclamations of her hatred for you, then... you even ignored her cries. She would pound on the door erratically, over and over again, sobbing in hysterical fits of tears. She would fall on her knees before your door, sobbing and pleading for you to give her another chance. She made promises she couldn't keep. She blubbered out "I love yous". Eventually, she stopped coming. And you didn't care.

It was easy, after that, to file for divorce. Within the year, you were a divorcé (with one e, Jamie). You never looked back, and you never regretted it. It was the right thing to do after you'd been doing the wrong thing for as long as you could remember. So she was shattered. Big deal. It hadn't bothered you any because you'd never loved her. You'd cared about her once, but that brief, hellish month of marriage had killed all affectionate feelings you'd ever had for her. And the vicious divorce had pushed you right into near-hatred, except you couldn't hate her. You'd wronged her too much for that, and hatred became yet _another_ extremity of feeling she didn't inspire in you.

And what scared you about Jude was that you hadn't lost interest. You lost interest in women who loved you even faster than your flavors of the week. And somehow, with the whole wide world, yourself included, telling her not to do it, and against all of her better judgment, fighting against everything in her... she did. She loved you something awful, something insane, something passionate. She loved you, and for once, you hadn't lost interest. After years of avoiding serious relationships, you were really starting to feel something for this girl. For starters, it scared you to death, and that alone was reason enough to shy away from your feelings. But she was just so, _so_ young... and you couldn't start anything up with her.

Her eyes blazed angrily as she realized what you were saying. She was quicker on the uptake this time. She knew exactly what you were trying to do, and by God, she wasn't going to make it easy for you. Her still slightly swollen eyes did not fill with tears immediately, as they had last night, but were instead hard and stubborn. She dug her heels in, unwilling to give up the fight like you had already done so very long ago. She sat up, crossing her arms over her chest like she knew exactly what that did to you. Then she stared you down with a fierce gaze, the likes of which took you aback a little. She was unyielding this time, sick of getting hurt. But you had to bend her. You had to make her break.

"That's not what you said last night!" She said in a voice that was too shrill. Her vocal control, however, was amazing. She didn't even sound perturbed. She sounded calm, cool, and collected... Three things Jude rarely ever was, much less at the same time. You flinched at the unspoken venom and all-too spoken reminder of the things you had done last night. You barely even remembered most of it... You did, however, remember one incredibly disturbing detail, aside from the torturous, shadowy depictions of the two of you together currently swirling in your mind. You forced yourself to not recall these shades of memory any further, lest they be brought into the light for all to see. How quickly you'd be painted as a model of iniquity. So you repressed those brief, fleeting, amazing memories, for it was better off and easier to live with that way. It made you want her less, but only a little. Those visions still haunted you, though, in your sleep, as strange images alternating from dream to nightmare. But, as for the troubling detail; it was the curious fact that... Last night had been the best sex of your entire life. It was absolutely mindblowing.

You didn't know what you could possibly say to her. You didn't even know what you'd told her last night. You had to have said something to her. Had you said something stupid, had you lied to her? You hoped that you hadn't said something you'd regret later... something you didn't mean. But you didn't know. You didn't know. You pursed your lips, peering at her as if trying to see through her. You tried to guess what you'd said, but you couldn't. So you just sighed, taking in her furious features. "I'm _sorry_, Jude," You murmured simply, hearing your hoarse voice break. You swallowed hard, glancing down at the ground shamefully.

You turned away from her then, wanting to say something. But you couldn't find the words, if there were any. You were getting that feeling more and more often. She was growing up before your eyes. Jude was a lot stronger than you were. Sometimes you envied her for it. She wasn't like you yet, bitter and jaded and mired in self-hatred. You had once loved music, but it had left a bitter taste in your mouth. You used to wish that you had never been discovered, that you weren't able to sing at all. You don't wish that now. You still love music, but you can't get over how much you hated singing. Nowadays, you sing only out of necessity, and that's why.

But Jude... she isn't like you, at least, not yet. And you don't want her to be. She will be if she's with you. Your personality will spread to her like the cancer it is. She loves music. She loves you. But it's impossible to love both masters at the same time, and you'd rather her love music than you. Music would take her places, send her to new heights. And you... you wouldn't. You'd take her to new lows and break her heart again. She was tough and brave. She had a bravery you'd never possessed: the bravery to wear her heart on her sleeve. There was a certain kind of stupidity in that, but there was a stupidity in your actions too. You two were about even in that respect. You admired her for that, too, though. You could never be that open.

You heard the sheets rustling behind you. You felt her eyes burning a hole through your back, but you didn't turn around. Then you felt her hand grab your arm, warm against your cold skin. Once again, you held firm and didn't turn around. "Tommy... _look_ at me," She pleaded, her voice hitting an amazingly plaintive note. You refused stoically, not giving in an inch. You tried to jerk your arm away from her, but she dug her nails into the flesh of your arm. Her fingers scraped your skin, held fast and held firm. It was a sharp, knife-like pain, even though she had short nails. She whirled you around with a stunning force, sending you reeling.

You were facing her now, and the space between you was nonexistent. But you still didn't look at her. You forced yourself to focus on her bare feet. She was gripping your arm with a red-hot fury, demanding silently that you look at her. She was naked, and you knew it. But still, you couldn't look at her. If you did, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself. One look would turn into a stare, and a stare would turn into a touch, and next thing you know, you'd be having sex with her again. And doing that did not mesh with your way of pretending it didn't happen if you don't remember it... well. "I... I can't. It's not ri-" You protested weakly, feeling sick to your stomach with the situation you'd been placed in. Jude saw right through you, though. She always had a funny way of doing that, seeing who you were to the core. And all of a sudden, she knew that you weren't as sure as you liked to make it seem.

Her eyes blazed at you, an intensely deep blue fire that made you take a step backwards. She didn't allow this, of course. "The **hell** it isn't, Tommy! Now look at me!" Jude snapped so loudly that you winced. She stepped forwards, still holding on to you bruisingly like it was some twisted sort of tango. She was so close that you could feel heat coming off of her skin. You wished she could grab something to cover up with. You didn't need to have her here, in front of you, tempting you, revealing all of herself all over again. You were, after all, only a man. And a man who had serious feelings for her, at that. She stepped forward, and you stepped back. Again and again. This sick dance continued until your back hit the wall, and you knew you couldn't escape her anymore. You had to really face what you did, and that meant you had to look at her.

Your choice was gone. It suddenly became that much harder for you. So you did what you could. You got angry, flung your arms away from her violently. You tried to scare her off, but she only took two steps backward. Still too close for you. Jude wanted you to look at her, and damn it if you weren't going to give her what she wanted. You never could say no to her anyways. Your eyes trailed up her body slowly as your wild, starving eyes savored the memory, and your mind filed every little detail away to make a vivid mental picture. Creamy, supple skin, flushed cheeks, messy dull red hair, tiny freckles, killer curves, legs that went on for miles, the indentation of her bellybutton, angry red bruises going down her neck and over her shoulders... You let your mind wander as your eyes took her in the way a thirsty man drinks water.

So it was as you'd expected. You wanted her even more badly. You sucked in a deep breath, still amazed by her. You'd seen many a naked woman in your day... many a naked girl, even, when you had been younger. But somehow, you'd never seen anything like her. You'd dated models, some of the most beautiful women on the planet, who all certainly had better bodies than she did. But. That was it. There was a but. But... you couldn't take your eyes off of her. And, somehow, you felt a strange, out-of-place softness towards her... an odd surge of admiration and respect... Something you'd never felt for one of those many other women. You couldn't even speak, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

Only your breathing was speeding up, and you were feeling an unwanted surge of desire that told you to get her back in that bed right now. You wanted to make that horrible mistake all over again. You wanted her in your bed _now_. But you forced yourself to fight that carnal, animalistic urge, clenching your fists. Other than that, you were like a statue. You refused to move for her, and your anger with yourself manifested outwards. "Okay, okay. I'm looking at you! Happy?!" You shouted irritably, cold eyes glinting like steel. You weren't enraged at her, though, not at all. She was making it difficult, and sure, you were frustrated. But this wasn't her fault at all. You had brought the entire thing on yourself. You're the adult. You know better. At least... you're supposed to. But you're used to doing lots of things you're not supposed to.

Like her, for one. You're not supposed to look at her like that. You're not supposed to touch her like that. You're not supposed to want her. You're not supposed to need her. You're not supposed to care so much. But you do. You do. You always do... with her, and only her. She never answered your rhetorical question, but the answer's clear. If you go through with this, which you will (how can you not?), she won't be happy. Neither will you, but you kept that to yourself because it makes your case stronger if she doesn't know. Finally, you manage to look up to her face. You didn't hesitate to look her straight in the eyes this time. You actually wanted to know what she was thinking. When your eyes finally met, you saw that her eyes were soft and warm. It pained you to see her devotion for you written so plainly on her face, and you ended up wishing that you'd just looked away instead.

But just as you'd turned your head away, you felt her slender fingers attaching themselves to your chin, pulling you back to face her. She was only inches away from kissing you now, but this time you were determined not to give in to her. Her eyes still looked the same, but this time a bright, feverish determination shone in their vivid blue depths. Her eyes looked like the sky just after a rain, when the clouds had all cleared, and there was only a clear blue expanse that stretched on above the rainbow. Like that same sky... Her eyes were full of promise.

It was a frightening sort of promise too, because they seemed to promise to love you forever. You didn't think you could handle that. And you sure as hell didn't deserve her affection. All you'd ever done was hurt her, reject her, and run away from her. You weren't a good guy. She held your chin with fixed resoluteness. She had no idea just how much she was asking of you. You weren't that strong. Your eyes slipped down from her stare shamefully. You weren't worthy. Jude was so much... better than you were. But Jude didn't yield you anything. "Tommy... you look at me the same way that I look at you," She murmured softly, leaning in even closer. It was the truth, and you knew it. You were just too ashamed to admit it. You attempted to shy away, but still she insisted. "That means something!" She cried, trying her hardest to make you see the connection. Yes, yes it did, you admitted silently. But outwardly you did nothing.

After all, you couldn't do anything. You forced your eyes shut, trying to immerse yourself in that blissful ignorance yet again. It didn't work, though, and you'd always known that it wouldn't. Jude's hands slid to your shoulders quietly, warming your cooling skin. You knew she was leaning in, and you attempted to move your head back in order to escape. Only seconds later, however, you knew it to be doomed. Her lips brushed against yours for the briefest instant, and you pulled back immediately, eyes flying open. You shook your head vigorously. "Jude, **don't**..." You said warningly, unconsciously licking your lips. She'd just brushed her lips against yours, but you could still taste her kiss.

Jude's eyes turned pleading. She brought her soft hands down over your muscular arms, gliding slowly over your skin as if she wished to remember the sensation for a long time. As well Jude should, you thought, since you were staying away from her from now on. Maybe even for good. A pouty frown appeared on her lips, and you knew you were powerless to say no to her. "Tommy, can't you see it?" She asked in a weak, pained voice. Yes, yes, you could. Whatever it was, you could see it. Then she trailed her hands down the plane of your chest, and you had to bite your lip so as not to let out a groan. Jude made quiet noises of pleasure, running her hands up and down your chest, and you were so busy trying to keep your cool that you didn't even notice her nimble fingers undoing the knot in your towel until it had already fallen to the floor.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you stared into her sparkling, slightly mischievous cerulean eyes. You swallowed hard, trying not to notice as her eyes briefly flicked down and then back up. A coy smile appeared on her lips as she _innocently_ traced your hipbone with her index finger. You cursed her silently, glaring at her with stormy eyes. She wasn't as innocent as she looked. You had been giving her too much credit. Jude knew **exactly** what she was doing to you, setting your naked skin on fire with her touch... And she was doing it on purpose, damn it! She wanted you to be tempted like this, craving her, almost exploding with desire, and desperately longing for release. She wanted you moaning her name, crashing your lips against hers, pressing your skin to hers. She selfishly wanted you to have your wretched way with her. And most of all, she wanted you just as bad, if not worse, than you wanted her.

But you held to your principles, no matter how much it was killing you. And you tried to think of dull, boring, unsexy things that weren't Jude at all. You even tried to think of work and all the things you had to do. Of course, none of it worked, and all your traitorous thoughts came back to Jude. Your thoughts always came back to Jude in the end, didn't they? You didn't give in though. Maybe you were stronger than you thought... No, wait, you weren't. You'd given in last night when you slept with her, and earlier when you'd first kissed her, really kissed her. This minor semblance of control didn't make up for that. You were once again craving a cigarette with fierce abandon, wanting to use the smaller addiction to replace the bigger one.

Finally, Jude became impatient and tired of waiting for you to come around. She shoved you against the wall none-too gently, but you liked that. It sent a forbidden thrill up your spine that you instantly condemned, but still the impulse burned in you. You longed to reach out and make that first move, but you'd so engraved it in your mind that you mustn't do anything inappropriate that... you couldn't. And you were grateful for that bizarre instance of self-control. Then Jude pressed her skin against yours, twining her arms around your waist, and all thoughts immediately disappeared. She pressed into you uncomfortably only seconds before she grabbed your ass. You almost jumped, but she slammed her hips against yours, and it required all your wits to keep your heart beating steadily and to stop yourself from jumping her bones right there against that wall. No matter how turned on you were or how much you wanted to.

Her eyes were a dark, smoky sapphire as she stared at you intently through heavy-lidded eyes. Warm skin against hot skin, you were burning up. A half-smile that spoke of challenge lingered on her reddened, full lips, something about their flush almost begged you to kiss her. And you were having a hell of a lot of trouble restraining yourself from doing that very thing. Jude's slight grin widened a bit, almost becoming a smirk. She leaned forward, wantonly pressing her skin even closer to yours, so that her lips hovered only a few millimeters from your own. You moaned too loudly as she swayed from side to side, never removing her skin from yours. You foolishly allowed her to drape your big arms loosely around her waist, drawing her nearer to you purposefully. You ached for her. Once again, she looked you in the eyes, completely unafraid. Her eyes were indigo, almost a shade of violet with lust, as she pulled back only slightly before throwing herself against you with reckless abandon. "We _fit_," She murmured huskily, shuddering against you, trembling with how much she... needed you, wanted you. "This is right," She breathed mere seconds before finally crashing her lips against yours, burying her fingers in your thick hair... and it was.

It was so right, so wonderful, such an amazingly new feeling... that you let yourself get caught up in it for that moment. You pushed back against her, refusing to detach yourself from her lips in order to breathe. You grabbed her tight around the waist, and she arched her back, wrapping her legs around your own waist. And she sighed and moaned in all the right ways, the _perfect_ ways, and she let you carry her to the bed again. You placed her on it as gently as you could, and she was as eager and ravenous as a newlywed. She fell back easily unto the bed, spreading her legs wide open for you, tenacious arms around your neck, pulling you down with her. Her skin was so soft against yours, and you had almost made yourself comfortable when she broke the kiss for a brief gasp of air.

It was then that you saw the world with the clarity that you'd been lacking. You wanted her, God yes, and you cared and maybe even... Oh, you couldn't finish that sentence! But you couldn't do this. No matter how good, how right it felt... It wasn't. So, no matter how much you wanted... this... with Jude... again... No matter how much it hurt you, physically hurt you, not just emotionally hurt you, to refuse... You had to do it. You couldn't lie to her, and you couldn't lead her on. You had been telling the truth earlier. You just... You couldn't.

You'd never wanted it to be like this for her. Not that you'd thought about it... much. Ha. That was a lie, a bitter lie, and you knew it all too well. She deserved to be with someone who she loved who... loved her back. Then again, what was saying that you... You forced the foolish thought back. Stupid. In biblical times, sex was a marriage of sorts. Sure, there had been some ceremony, but it wasn't always like that. It couldn't have always been about papers and ceremony. Hell, they'd allowed bigamy back then! In the Bible, sex was for marriage and children. And, no matter how much of a whore you were, a part of you had always kept that in mind. When you were younger, much, much younger... even than Jude... before the band, when you'd still been a good little Catholic schoolboy... You'd thought that you should only have sex with someone you could see yourself marrying. And so, it made you wonder... Could she see herself marrying you?

Could you see yourself marrying her? You immediately dismissed the thought, though, because it was really quite ridiculous... and she was far too young anyways. Then again, Juliet got married at thirteen... but those were different times. Even if you felt differently about Jude than any other woman... And even if you cared about her more than your former wife. Try and tell yourself that doesn't mean anything! You swallowed hard, feeling full of regret. You really did love Jude in your own way, even if it wasn't the way she wanted. You shook your head slowly, backing up. "No, Jude," You muttered, voice wavering slightly, "It's not." Her eyes filled slowly with tears as she realized what you were doing, but she made no attempt to cover herself.

She just lay there, splayed out on your bed, completely naked before your eyes. There was something so vulnerable about her lying there, all ivory skin, gray-blue eyes, and scarlet hair. She made no attempt to move, and Jude didn't take her eyes off you for a second. Her eyes were a sad, glassy cornflower, dulling to the point where you almost didn't recognize them. Disappointment and despair shone in their once bright depths. She bit her cherry lips painfully, trying to hold back the cries. Jude was stubbornly silent, trying to be strong by refusing to let the tears fall. So, unfettered, you continued speaking. She wasn't going to interrupt you now. "_This_... can't happen, Jude," You said slowly, stressing your message. She merely blinked at you, shooting you a glance that held more sadness than a thousand tears.

You felt that you had to give her concrete reasons for your decision, so you did. You found that you had to look away from her now, that it was becoming too hard... "You're too young," You began, using the biggest reason. She visibly flinched, and the tears started rolling down her cheeks. You sucked in a deep breath, feeling incredibly nervous and awful inside. "And I'm the **wrong** guy," You whispered hoarsely, echoing what you'd said earlier last night... just before she'd kissed you. Her eyes flashed at the mention, and her posture stiffened into something uncomfortable. You swallowed harder this time, taking that stormy flash of life in her eyes as a positive sign. Jude rose quietly from the bed with a strange pallor in her cheeks. A feverish fire shone in her glittering eyes.

Jude wiped the salty remains of tears from her face unashamedly as she strode towards you. You motioned towards the bed, gesturing at the sheets, wanting her to take one to cover herself. You hastily picked up your boxers, dressing quickly like a nervous jackrabbit. Jude held her head up high, proudly displaying her marked neck. She surprised you by bending down gracefully and picking her dress up from the floor. She stretched languidly, pulling the wrinkled silk over her head and down her body. It was skintight, and you couldn't help but notice. Your throat was dry from _noticing_ her. And then she approached you slowly, as if in a dream. "You said that last night too," She murmured in a low whisper, finally reaching you. She was close again, so close... And you let yourself inhale her smell. Seconds later, Jude reached out for you hesitantly, gently touching your shoulder. Then her lackadaisical eyes flashed vividly, hardening into frosty diamonds. "Right before you ravaged me," She hissed viciously through tight, prim-and-proper lips.

Her words came out harsh and jagged as she had clearly intended them to be. There was a bitterness to them, and she had a way of making what you'd done seem worse than it was. Or maybe you were just kidding yourself by thinking it wasn't that bad. You had ravaged her after all. Such an ugly word, "ravage". Ravage made it sound like you'd raped her. It made it sound like you had forced her to do it, like you'd hurt her physically. Ravage. You went on a rampage; you plundered, and you pillaged. You stole what wasn't yours to have. So she was right, then, wasn't she? You saw the furious wrath of judgment shining in her eyes, and even you had to admit that you deserved it.

This sentence made you flinch and draw back from her, your Jude. Your Jude whom you suddenly couldn't recognize at all. She was a stranger whose eyes bore into you like pickaxes, whose hands were cold, and whose eyes were dead and empty, void of all life. She was hurt, heartbroken, furious, and confused... So it was only understandable that she would lash out at you. You swallowed hard, feeling the waves of guilt crash over you again, threatening to drown you in their waters of silent torment. You fought to stay above the surface by pacifying yourself with the truth. Yes, you had sinned here. You had made a grave error, one you could neither fix... nor take back like that kiss last night. But you were remorseful, and you felt regret. You did not want to hurt her, but you had to in order to do what was the best for yourself. You kept telling yourself it was just that simple.

But it wasn't. And you didn't know if she was lying or telling the truth because you couldn't remember. But you knew that it was at least a half truth. You'd called yourself the wrong guy last night too... out on the fire escape. Okay, so it had been implied in a way, but... it held up. Maybe she meant... that. You had said that just before kissing her, after all. Maybe that was what she meant.

And maybe this was all just a sick, twisted nightmare. If only it were that easy.

You tried to look away from her, but it proved to be impossible. Your eyes were magnetically drawn to her. Still, you persisted in trying to avoid her eyes. It would make it so much easier to tell her what you had to tell her... Only, what did you have to tell her? You hadn't thought it through that far yet. But you knew you had to say something, and you had to make it fast. And, all of a sudden, the words started to flow out of your mouth, fluid as water. "Jude... I can't do this with you. No matter how much I w... I **can't**, okay?" You stressed, meaning every word. You didn't pause long, only long enough to catch your breath. You had to make this airtight, so she couldn't find a hole in your wall of lies and rip it down. "I know that's not good enough for you, but that's as good as I can give you right now," You said, and after you said it, the sheer selfishness in your words nearly made you choke.

But you pressed on bravely, for it was all you could do. Finally, you knew it was time to look her in the eye. If you didn't, you had no credibility, and she would never believe you. You wanted her to believe you. You needed for her to believe you. You looked up at her, eyes softening immediately. She squirmed in her dress, not wanting to look at you at all. Her hands had long ago fallen from your shoulders, and that lack of touch left you bereft and... so cold... without her. You took a couple steps towards her, unable to stop yourself. You reached out for her, gently setting your hand down on her shoulder. You rubbed the bare skin of her shoulder with your thumb, back and forth, hoping the gesture would pacify her. You looked at her intently, unconsciously leaning in towards her, resting your forehead against hers. "I care about you, Jude..." You whispered, meaning every word. You sighed softly, closing your eyes, staying frozen in that moment. "Never doubt that," You breathed, slowly moving your head upwards. The tip of your nose trailed up the bridge of her nose, then up her forehead, until you eventually buried it in her hair.

Her hair smelled like wildflowers, you thought fleetingly. Then you pressed your lips to her brow in a soft goodbye kiss. Your voice was soft and steady. You forced yourself to open your eyes before you did something you'd really regret, pulling back a little to look at her properly. Your hands slipped down to grasp her upper arms. And this moment reminded you of something else an awful lot, but you didn't know what. Déjà vu overwhelmed you, but you couldn't place the feeling. It seemed so obvious. It seemed to be screaming out at you, but you didn't know what it was. That feeling further unsettled you. "But, girl, you have to understand. This is not an ideal situation for me... I'd change it if I could, but I can't!" You declared raspingly, feeling impassioned.

Jude's face hardened, and her eyes turned bitter. She pushed away from you, eyes flashing. She clenched her fists to her sides. An angry flush rose in her cheeks. "You might as well just say it," She stated bluntly, staring you down, "Tell me what you told me last night..." Here she paused almost hesitantly, trailing off. Her voice wavered for a few seconds. Then her eyes darkened to a murky, almost threatening midnight blue. "You know, before you **nailed** me," She growled bitterly, bringing up your sin again. Her eyes narrowed in disgust, and she began to pace away from you. Like she couldn't even bear to be near you. You felt disgusted with yourself. And a part of you wanted so badly to tell her to run away from you now that she could. But another part of you wanted to hold her close to you and never let her go.

She glared daggers at you, stopping in her incessant pacing for one moment to focus that dark stare on you. Jude crossed her arms over her chest stiffly, letting out a sharp, biting laugh. "It never happened, right?" She mocked, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. Her eyes glinted coldly, and the fire in her cheeks started to pale. Jude was a sight to behold, that was certain. But what stuck in your mind was... how much older she looked. So much older you could almost... You licked your lips. "The wine got to your head, and you're _sorry_. Oh, yes, you're **sorry**, so sorry, but you **can't**!" She scoffed derisively. She shook her head at you, lips curling upwards in a sneer. You looked down shamefully, and her voice would ring in your ears for the rest of the day. Jude had gotten so bitter so fast. Now it just seemed like she was sick of you.

She sighed, and your eyes shot back up to her, heart in your throat. Now Jude just looked... exhausted. Her eyes were drawn, and her posture just... drooped. She didn't break down, but... She looked close. Then she surprised you by pulling up her head boldly to face you, and when she did, not a trace of sadness showed on her face. There wasn't a hint of it in her features, but it was there nonetheless. "I'm sick of hearing it, Tommy," She murmured, trying to make the words come out as sharply as they had before but failing miserably. Her voice betrayed her; she sounded weak. She _was_ weak, and you had made her that way. But Jude grimaced and got a hold of herself. "It never happened. It never happened. It never happened," She repeated, uttering each word faster and faster, louder and louder, so that they fell in a peculiar succession. It was like she was spitting fire. And she was, too... throwing your own words back at you like that. Ouch.

Here her eyes looked a bit misty, but Jude was firm in her resolve. She was resolved not to cry over you anymore. "You can say it as many times as you want, but I'm never- **never**- going to forget it!" She proclaimed passionately, striking out at you. She hit you hard in the chest, but you didn't stumble backwards. You wouldn't forget it either, you feared... and you couldn't even really remember the deed in the first place. All you had were flashes, little bits and pieces, mere fragments of memory. You snatched at each one as they flitted close to your vision, close enough to grab. But the memories were faster than you were, and they flew out of your reach like bejeweled butterflies, colors fading fast in the wind.

Jude clenched her jaw tightly, practically breathing down your neck. If she was furious, full of wrath and rage... then there was no room for tears. She couldn't cry now, not now when there was still hope and the hurt was still so fresh. She didn't want to give you that little satisfaction. She was so sick of crying in front of you. "So, come on, Tommy, tell me. Say those words. Break my heart all over again," She seemed to dare, eyes glinting like steel buried in the snow. She held out her arms, palms outstretched and turned upwards. Under normal situations, this positioning could've been considered calm, even meditative, but not now. There was something off about the way she was standing there, flexing her fingers and giving you that "come hither" stare.

She sounded like she had last night in the alley when this whole mess had really started, asking those rhetorical questions she knew you couldn't answer. In a way, she was just as forlorn and heartbroken... only you hadn't done it yet. You hadn't really broken Jude's heart for good this time. You were just watching and waiting, whiling the time away, and wanting to pick the perfect moment. But there was no perfect moment for this kind of thing. But this Jude seemed stronger, more jaded. She didn't expect anything of you at all, and it was... strange. She expected the worst of you. You only wanted to give her your best. But you couldn't do that. You could only give her what you could, and right now... that wasn't much of anything. You looked at her through remorseful eyes, feeling the apology slipping from your lips before you could stop yourself.

"Jude, I'm..." You began sorrowfully. You hadn't been quite sure what exactly you were going to say to her, but you figured you'd just let the words flow out of your mouth. You were so sorry. Guess you never got the opportunity to figure out just what you were going to say to her, then, did you?

It had been a reflex. After all, weren't you always apologizing to Jude about some stupid thing you'd done? She had a point, though, this time. It was as clear as day. She didn't want to keep on perpetuating this vicious cycle of pain and self-denial. Jude didn't want you to think it was okay. Like you didn't already know how very wrong it was... "Save it, Tommy!" She interrupted furiously, looking possessed. "I'm _sick_ of your apologies," Jude spat venomously, shooting you a fierce glare. "If you really meant them, you wouldn't keep hurting me like this! So come on, **say** it!" She continued vehemently, purposefully goading you on.

Her narrowed eyes were a piercing crystal blue. Her hair burned scarlet in the radiant sunlight. Her cheeks were flushed from anger. A fiery rage glinted in her eyes as she approached you, staring at you with such intensity that you had no choice but to bend to her will. Much like she had last night. You were starting to wonder which of the two of you here was the adult. It was a long battle, but inevitably you had to give in. Sometimes you were just so tired of fighting it. "Okay..." You relented, nodding slowly. You exhaled heavily, knowing what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear the terrible truth that you hadn't yet dropped on her. "Okay," You muttered as an afterthought, and it felt a helluva lot like you'd switched places and gone back in time to last night. You remembered making her promise. What a horrible thing to do! You squinted your eyes shut, swallowing the self-hatred that surged up in you rebelliously. You drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to calm your rattled nerves.

But this was not enough for Jude. It was not near quick enough for her tastes. She was sick of waiting, too, apparently. Not that you could blame her. You were even more sick of waiting to... well, you know... be with her. So you hadn't waited. And now you'd gone and screwed everything up, per usual. After all, ruining a good thing was your forte, wasn't it? Everything you touch... breaks, especially girls' hearts. Even the hearts of girls (okay, girl... okay... Jude!) that you didn't want to break. "Damn it, Tommy, **say** it! Spell it out for me in black and white! **Break** me!" Jude screamed at the top of her lungs, voice tinging on hysterical. Her eyes blazed, filled with unshed tears. "Come on, I'm just begging for it..." She taunted mercilessly, throwing out her arms dramatically. "Let me _fall_!" She half-sang, mocking her own song, trying to coerce you into doing... what? Her eyes hardened as she placed her hands on her hips decidedly. She took on a strange, seemingly apathetic attitude. "Do whatever the _hell_ you want, just..." Jude snarled. Here her breath got caught in her throat, and her voice dropped to a whisper. She paused for the briefest of moments. "... Get it over with," She finished, sighing heavily.

So you were basically backed up against the wall, and you had to tell her the horrible awful truth. You simply had no other choice. This time you sighed, feeling weary all the way down to your bones. Your shoulders sagged under the burden. You forced your feet forward, propelling yourself in her direction. When your feet stopped moving, your nose was almost brushing against hers. Too close. You reached out and grabbed her hands tenderly. "We can't be together, Jude," You murmured quietly, as if your sensitive stare and gentle touch would soften the blow of your rejection. She knew that you were going to say that. She'd even begged for you to do it, but when you finally did, all her false bravado was gone. Her shoulders slumped, her knees buckled, a vermilion fringe obscured her stormy eyes. Furthermore, her eyes turned gloomy and downcast.

She may make love just like a woman, and she aches just like a woman... but she breaks just like a little girl. Appearances, after all, are very deceiving. The blossom of youth was still rosy upon her cheek. So she's not really a woman at all. She's just a child, just a pretty little girl... But she's _your_ girl, and she'll always be your girl. You took a deep, heavy breath that got caught unpleasantly in your throat, gesturing between the two of you. The gesture came off more awkwardly than you'd intended. "This... can _never_... happen again," You stated with a slow finality, looking her directly in the eyes and meaning it, really meaning it, all of it.

It was like someone had thrown ice water over her. She froze immediately, jerking her hands out of your grip immediately. She stared at you with wide, shocked blue eyes that were fast filling with tears. But she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She sighed as if accepting it, and she walked over to sit on the edge of your messy, rumpled bed. "Just answer me this, Tommy..." She asked in a barely steady voice, looking down at the floor. "Why?" She looked back up at you with those innocent gentian blue eyes, fluttering her heavy black eyelashes. You wanted to sit down next to her and wrap your strong arms around her fragile frame, but you couldn't do that.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't make this all better. So, instead, you sat down gingerly on the armchair directly facing your bed. It was conveniently facing Jude's very position, and although you could see her just fine... It seemed that there was some sort of impassable gulf between the two of you. And, of course, there was no way to reach each other, no mythic overland bridge, no secret Northwest Passage through the icebergs that locked you both firmly in your positions. For the icebergs were of your own creation, and you'd just sunk the landbridge. You could only stare at her across the wide expanse between you with dark eyes. "You know why, girl," You murmured knowingly, recognizing somehow that she would know what you meant. To be honest, you were just so world-weary and half-dead, sick of repeating those hurting words over and over again.

You smiled at her, and it was a genuine thing. There was absolutely no reason for you to smile softly at her, only you did. You kind of wished she'd smile back, that you two would share a look of understanding. That this wasn't at all what you wanted. That what you really wanted was her. But Jude was only sixteen and heartbroken, so she missed your completely subliminal signals. Having a whole conversation with her eyes was not a trait she had yet mastered, and you were far too complex for her to figure out anyways. Who knows? Maybe in a different life... But sadly, this was not a different life. This was a dark, dark world where you'd screwed Jude (pardon the rhyme scheme). And your Jude wasn't the little girl she seemed to be. "No, Tommy, I'm afraid I don't. Why don't you _explain_ it to me?!" She hissed venomously, eyes glittering dangerously. You could hear the hysteria bubbling up in her voice, and it worried you more by the minute.

She was so furious that her cheeks flushed near magenta. She carelessly threw her hair backwards, out of her face. Her pretty face twisted into a grimace, and distaste was written plainly all over her features. You were suddenly so frustrated with her. It was like she was deliberately trying to make this all the more difficult for you. And, yes, that would've normally been okay because you did, after all, deserve it. But... if Jude pushed you any further, you were going to snap. This strong front you've put up would dissolve, your protective walls would crumble and fall like Jericho, and you would break down. All shook up like Elvis, and no place to put that volatile energy... You didn't know what you'd do. So that, that was why this couldn't happen. You had to be strong, and if the girl put one more ounce of pressure on you, you were going to explode. And that wouldn't be pretty in the slightest.

"Do you think this is _easy_ for me, Jude?" You questioned irritably, hands curling into fists at your sides. It wasn't. It was the hardest thing you'd ever had to do. "Do you think that I **like** hurting you?" You continued sharply, anger beginning to rise up in your voice. You didn't, actually, as incredible as that was to believe. You hated it something awful, but you did it anyways (countless times), so much, in fact, that she could easily throw it back in your face. Which she did often enough as it was. She always knew how to get under your skin, didn't she? Like now, when she was staring at you with those wet doe eyes and those pouting, trembling lips- Looking so **damn** innocent you wanted to... to unspeakable things to her. You growled in frustration, cursing your foolish, utterly inappropriate thoughts. Shady visions of the two of you naked and sweaty in that bed haunted you like demons, viciously continuing in their graphic onslaught without a single regard to your sanity. Your ravenous eyes appraised her form, and the tawdry images flashed bright and garish in your mind, lit up by the smoky red glare of neon lights. After all, you thought wickedly, envisioning each and every last immoral thing you could do to her, she wasn't wearing a thing under that silk...

Then suddenly you found yourself yelling at her, caught up in a blind rage. The hurtful words flew out of your mouth. "I made a _huge_ mistake," You professed loudly, letting out a huge breath of air. You shook your head at your own stupidity, swinging your arms around menacingly, feeling restless. "I **never** should've had sex with you, Jude!" You swore so vehemently it sounded like a profanity. Jude looked absolutely stricken by your words, and you hated that you had meant them with your whole heart. You wanted to put your hand over your mouth to stop the words from coming out, but they just kept coming. Your voice was rough, your tone harsh. And, although you were directing your yelling at Jude, you were really berating yourself. "I should've known better than to do something so **_stupid_**!" You screeched almost incredulously. This time she flinched like you had called her stupid, and in a way, you had. After all, you'd done her, hadn't you?

Your feet started moving of their own accord, and then you were pacing dizzyingly. You cast a brief glance at her as you paced, rubbing your temples. Your minor headache was already beginning to verge on a migraine. "You know, I could wind up in jail for this!" You shouted desperately, accidentally raising your voice up an octave. It was shrill, too high, and too loud. But you were at your wits' end and riled up enough to pull out clumps of your hair by the roots. You were so paranoid, thinking that people could hear every single word you'd said to her through the walls. That was more out of fear than anything else, though. You had said some awfully incriminating things. Jude almost jumped from the force of your words, so you saw fit to tone it down a little. You were being rather hard on her, after all, and she was just a slip of a teenage girl. This remembrance hit you hard like a snake bite. "You're way too young... Out of bounds..." You mumbled half under your breath, repeating your own words.

Memories of that talk with Kwest that made you a hypocrite bombarded your mind. You remembered the Vinyl Palace too, all too well. You and Jude alone backstage, how nervous she'd been... She was so grateful to you, but she was acting very strangely. You thought she was just worried about her first gig, or that maybe you two needed to bond a little more, that maybe confiding in you was still awkward. So you tried to bolster her confidence with compliments, but she wound up getting the wrong idea... not that you could blame her... and then she kissed you. You were so surprised when she did that. You usually made the first move, not the other way around. Girls tended to forget who they were around you, dissolving into silly, shy creatures who giggled hysterically at your every word but were too afraid to actually approach you as Jude had and even brush their lips against yours. That was when you knew there was something different about her. She had guts, all right.

You squinted your eyes shut and finally stopped walking, exhaling heavily before opening your eyes again. You gazed off at your reflection in the side mirror, noticing the way your eyes stood out. "And I knew better, but I just _couldn't_ resist," You proclaimed boldly, almost yelling. Your eyes must've seemed shocking cyan whirlpools. They were unrelenting like the overwhelmingly azure waves that crashed into the jagged, beached rocks with deadly precision. And with the way you were staring at her, you felt like you were sucking her down into your undertow, taking her into the dark depths of the sea, never to return.

Jude gasped softly, blatantly staring at you, taking in your features hungrily. Your lips turned down into a frown. You walked towards her, dropping your voice several octaves. It was low, and husky, but the latent anger still remained there. "I took advantage of you, I led you on..." You drawled bluntly, bringing your eyes up to stare at her. However, your eyes roamed openly over her form, and you didn't make any attempt to quit looking at her. God, you just wanted to... But you can't do that. You swallowed hard over the lump in your throat. It's wrong, you reminded yourself. Your fingers were itching for a cigarette. You were dying for some nicotine, to exercise one vice instead of another. You needed to feel that self-destructive fire burning your lungs, inching its way down your throat. You looked at her, purposefully hardening your gaze. "Don't you _get_ it, Jude?" You cried, voice crescendoing, feeling very cross with yourself. Then you met her stare unflinchingly. "I'm **not** the kind of guy you want to get involved with!" You very nearly snarled, trying to show her with your rage that you weren't a nice guy. That she was better off without you a guy like you as a boyfriend. You'd think that she would know that already after dealing with Shay, but you were worse even than he was.

But you weren't really angry with her; you were mad at yourself for thinking such dreadful, deliriously wrong thoughts. And then again, maybe you were pissed at her for making you this way. For making you think these criminal thoughts, and worse yet, for actually making you feel guilty about your illicit, never-gonna-happen (a little late for that, isn't it?) fantasies. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, and she looked absolutely terrified. She almost cowered, petrified, against the headboard, clutching the pillow as if it were a life preserver. You'd slept on that side of the bed, you remembered somewhat fondly, as Jude buried her nose in your pillow. Yes, this... This was why you couldn't be with her. You were too old, too set in your ways, too bad, too angry, and, well... too _you_. "Do you think that I don't care?" You whispered weakly, finally, hearing the painful rasp in your voice.

Jude was no longer afraid of you. She released your pillow frostily, casting it off to the side uselessly. She didn't need it anymore. Her spine straightened, and she moved away from your headboard, towards you. She was suddenly all fire and ice, stiff, cold to the touch, but burning with anger. Her pale bluish-gray shale eyes were flinty; thin chips of fury flaked off of them, trying to pierce you and make you pay. She as good as nailed you to the wall with that infamous dirty look of hers. Her arms stiffened as she leaned forward slightly, sliding off the edge of your bed as if she was disgusted that she was sitting where you'd slept, on the same bed in which you'd had sex with her last night. She moved now so she was sitting on the very edge of your bed, legs deliberately spread wide open. You couldn't see anything, even though you wanted to, and you hated yourself for wanting that. Her dress had just ridden up a little, revealing her bare knees.

You didn't realize you were staring until she leaned forward slightly, placing her hand on your knee, your bare skin. She was suddenly looming so close in your vision, and your breath caught in your throat from surprise. Then Jude shook her head sadly, so near that her crimson curls fell in your face. She sighed wearily, drawing back from you just a little, as if she wished to distance herself from you but didn't know how. "Do you _ever_ act like you do?" She asked, forcing that cruel ice into her voice, trying to make you recoil as she had earlier. She wanted to make you uncomfortable, to watch you suffer... which you wholly deserved. But you did care, damn it. You cared so much that it hurt.

You sighed heavily, rising out of your chair and walking over to sit down next to her on the bed. You shook your head sadly and couldn't look her in the eyes. Your fingers toyed with your sheets, twisting the soft fabric in your fingers nervously. You felt restless, kind of like you just wanted to fly away from here. You exhaled softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jude, you don't get it. I can't have feelings for you," You stated a bit too flippantly. You winced at how condescending you sounded. It was like you were telling her how to feel. You scooted backwards a little, leaning back on your hands. You weren't any more comfortable, but it gave you something to do other than clutch the sheets and focus on your breathing. "It's _wrong_," You breathed, feeling the dark, bruising sin of it seep in under your skin, blackening and killing your soul like a silent plague. That was all anyone had ever told you, how wrong it was to feel this way.

So you believed them instead of your own heart, and you betrayed her with your lies. Jude was absolutely silent for the longest time, and while you wanted to tell yourself that she was the quiet type, you knew this to be false. It occurred to you that something must be gravely wrong, and that you must've deeply wounded her this time... But you can say nothing to ameliorate her pain. You've exhausted all apologies. The time for arguments and reason has passed. She's too hurt, too emotional, and too much of a woman scorned for any of that to have even the tiniest effect on her heartbreak. And you don't think Jude wants your pity or your sympathy. Then it'd all sink in, and she'd be truly pathetic. This leaves you with two options, each of them hopeless. One, you can sit here and say nothing, attempting to reassure her with your mere presence to show her that you haven't abandoned her... yet... and hopefully don't plan on it. Only you're not too sure of that one, so it must be out.

And then there's the second option, which is even worse. It is, however, the only way you could be sure of her ever forgiving you. And it'd be so easy. But it would change things drastically. And, more importantly, it would be a lie, and you've sworn off playing games with her heart for good this time. You can't sit here in silence without touching her, comforting her, or trying to do something to help. And you most assuredly can't say those three words that you know would make her the happiest woman in the world. You don't love her now. Not yet, at least, but you could try. But you won't because, remember, you can't! So you were forced to stand there like an idiot, trying to keep your distance and swallowing down the guilt that bubbles up in your throat, acidic and repulsive, like bile.

The both of you were silent and motionless for what seems like an eternity. You snuck a peek over at Jude, peering at her face. She looked completely unperturbed, and her face was devoid of all expression. She seemed numb to feeling, but maybe she didn't want to feel anymore. Maybe she was just sick of the pain that seemed to pervade her existence. Then, while you were still watching her face, it was like her whole countenance fell apart completely, and the porcelain doll she appeared to be cracked, letting fragments of glass fall as they would. Something in her broke, you thought, as she rose to her feet suddenly. Her eyes darted around the room aimlessly and her hands shook, but she seemed determined.

She moved so she stood directly in front of you now. Jude wavered slightly on her feet but managed to hold firm. Her eyes seemed impossibly depressed, and her face was a portrait of abject misery. Her glittering eyes were full of wet, heavy tears that she kept trying to blink away furiously, but they stubbornly refused to disappear. However, not a single one of these tears fell on you. They didn't even fall at all because she refused to give you that satisfaction of having her cry her eyes out over you yet again. She sniffed softly, but kept staring at you unnervingly, refusing still to wipe at her eyes. A lock of claret hair hung in her eyes adorably, and she made no moves to fix it.

She just stared right through you with those penetrating ultramarine eyes. If you remembered anything about that moment other than those words she said next, it would be that: being absolutely captivated and caught up in her feverishly brilliant ultramarine eyes. She took a loud gasp for breath just before saying it, just so it'd sound like some big revelation. "But I **_love_** you!" She screamed passionately, breathlessly, childishly, knees buckling beneath her as she threw herself at you. Her soft, girlish hands rested gently on your knees, and she very nearly threw her head blindly into your lap before she remembered how little clothing you were wearing. The mere thought made her uncomfortable enough for a pleasant blush to spread down her skin, and she refrained from this activity. Instead, she placed her head towards the very edge of your knees, briefly resting it there. The sick part of you wished she would've thrown her head against your thighs anyway, inappropriate and invasive or not. And then it really hit you. Jude was in love with you, and she meant it. The mere thought sent an almost erotic thrill up your spine. It was a manipulative, childish thing to do, using love against you... But you wanted her even more desperately now. The declaration of love brought out such an intensity of feeling in yourself that you didn't know what to do with the sudden surge of decidedly uxorious feelings.

You were so overcome by this strange new emotion that you caressed her hair with a distracted tenderness completely unsuitable to who you were and what you were known for. Then, a few moments later, staring at her face, beautiful eyes closed, tears leaking on your bare legs, cheek against your skin, full lips brushing against your knee... You placed a kind finger underneath her chin ever so gently and made her to look at you properly. She stared at you, tears running in helpless, glossy tracks down her face, and you almost forgot your name. These mysteriously ardent feelings were scaring you to death. You had no idea what to do about them or what they were or how to stop them. You didn't even know what you were going to do next, but whatever it was, you knew you'd be unable to stop yourself. And, right now, the tempting idea of kissing those swollen pink lips of hers again was beginning to seem more and more enticing. You leaned in just a little closer to her, bending your neck down so you could better bridge the gap between the two of you. But slowly, ever so slowly, did your lips near hers.

And just at the very moment that your lips finally touched hers, but only just barely, you remembered yourself. She was a new sixteen, that was all. _Too young, Tommy, too young._ So, ruing your existence, you pulled away from her a little bit because you couldn't bring yourself to back away entirely. You still wanted to be this close to her at least, since you couldn't kiss her or touch her inappropriately. Now, there was still something wholly inappropriate about the way you were touching her now, but it was mostly innocent. Only Jude leaned in again, wanting you so bad you could taste it, and tried to land a desperate kiss on your lips. You were giving her really mixed signals, and now you had to make yourself clear.

You didn't want to do it, which had been why you'd had so much trouble doing it in the first place. But you needed to repel her. You needed to find something that would keep her away from you. She needed to find you completely repulsive. But what could you say that would make her **never** want to kiss you again? You'd been trying to do that since you met her, and you'd been doing a pretty half-assed job of it. Probably because the thought of her never kissing you again, of those lips never touching yours again... was absolutely unbearable to you. You'd said all sorts of hurtful things, and still... So you had to be nasty instead. You had to hit below the belt. You had to be low-down and despicable. It was a role that suited you well.

So you pushed her off your lap almost violently and rose to your feet suddenly, stepping over her body. She reached out for your ankle, but you were stronger than her. You pulled the appendage free from her grasp easily, plastering a cold look on your face. Sometimes you've got to be cruel to be kind. It's funny how you've never understood that phrase until now, when it's become a mantra in your head. You keep repeating it to remind yourself of why and what you're doing this for. In Jude's case, you've got to be cruel to be kind, and cruel you are. You turn on her almost viciously, eyes narrowing as if you were offended by her honest proclamation. You were anything but offended, but you have to lie now. She _can't_ love you, even though she does. She'll understand when she's older, and maybe then you'll be lucky enough to get the time of day from her. Later, later, later. You worked yourself up into such a frenzy of rage against yourself that your anger seems like the whole of it is directed at her. "You _loved_ Shay yesterday!" You growled accusingly.

You spat out love like it was a dirty word, and to you it is and still remains to be that: an empty word, a broken promise, never unconditional, and mostly not reciprocated. Jude picked herself up off the floor with pride and a dignity you thought she'd given up when she'd thrown herself at you. Her limbs were stiff, her features as if made of stone. She was really offended, not like you. She shook her head at you, exhaling furious breath through her nostrils. Jude placed her hands on her hips, and she looked like an avenging goddess standing before you, ready to kill. She took personal offense to your rather flip comment, but your accusation, now that you thought about it, did, in fact, have some merit. After all, she'd kissed you back on the rebound. Hell, she'd had sex with you on the rebound, and she'd been broadcasting her love for Shay all over the world for weeks. She sure moved on awful fast from heartbreak to heartbreak. "I can't believe that _you_, of all people, have the nerve to insinuate that I'm a whore," She stated stiffly, a disbelieving, bitter edge in her tone.

That's a backhanded insult if you've ever heard one, and it's also why you two can't be together. You're too old, too experienced. You're a whore, yes, you get the picture. You don't need her to tell you that to know it to be true, so you don't argue with her. "How many women have you had sex with, Tom?" Jude continued fiercely. Her daring surprised you this time, but she had you thinking. It's obvious, really, if you look at the trail of broken hearts you leave in your wake, and the drawer of panties in your bureau leftover from one-night stands. It gets even more obvious when you try and remember each and every one of them. There's a whole period of your life that's a mystery to you. Some nights are blocked out of your memory forever. You may forget the nights, but you always remember the mornings after with a piercing, even painful clarity. If you're honest with yourself, you couldn't try and count all the women that there have been if you tried. Not that you will. It'd be much to difficult, and you'd actually have to talk to your former bandmates, something you've sworn never to do. So you settle for an infinite number rather than anything concrete.

And, since you can't actually think up an answer, but have to make some comment, you go once again with the first thing that comes to mind. "That's none of your business," You state tersely, even though it's a lie. What stupid words, you think a second later. Of course it is her business, and you don't know. But telling her that you're such a slut that you don't actually know, and that you couldn't count them if you tried is just embarrassing. It wouldn't help your case any in the end, and she'd just feel disposable, which she isn't. She wants to know what number she is, you can tell, just like you want to know what number you were to her. You think maybe, maybe that Jamie kid was her first 'cause they seem to have some sort of history, and that kid's obviously got a thing for her. And then there's Shay, who you bet "hit that" anyways, just because he's so much like yourself at seventeen that you want to hurl. He's been spoiled by his uncle, and he's used to getting whatever he wants- which, of course, would include Jude. After all, you're used to the same and look where it got you. That'd make you a lousy number three, but her number would be even higher. Maybe higher than five hundred... or a thousand, you think. You're not sure, and that's entirely the problem, isn't it?

Jude was pissed at you. Her hands fell roughly off her hips, and she was now clenching those very same delicate, pale hands into white-knuckled fists at her sides. She was seething, and you could practically see the red-hot steam coming out of her ears. You almost recoiled, but that would be a sign of weakness you can't allow, and you already think she can smell your fear, your hesitancy, and your avoidance. "But I think it **is**, Tom," She managed to get out with an impressive civility. Her upper lip curled into a sneer. "After all, you screwed me too, didn't you?" She scorned, glowering at you. She forced a laugh, and a bitter smile crossed those lips that would never quite escape you. "It's my prerogative to know," She continued self-righteously, putting up an impenetrable shield of pride. One you hopefully couldn't get through. "After all, I don't want to _catch_ anything," She hissed spitefully, and you were surprised to find that the barb hurt.

You knew she was hurt and just reacting to your own apparent cruelty, but you were tiring of this endless argument quickly. You were fed up with hearing about how you'd wronged her. Of course you knew that you had done it. And you knew how awful you were, but you felt so damn bad about it already... and it was almost like she was rubbing her pain in your face so it'd hurt you more. It already felt like a knife to the heart, salt in your wounds. Your irritation was growing by the minute, and those repressed urges were growing. They itched like shards of glass crawling under your skin, and all you wanted to do was scratch that hideous, penetrating itch... until it was raw. It was so hard to resist and fight that impulse, but you did it with everything you had. It was a battle that was fast wearing the fight out of you. "_Don't_ talk about things you don't understand, Jude," You muttered curtly, clenching your jaw, feeling the muscles strain.

She shook her head this time, backing away from you warily. Jude had that look in her eye again, that shaky, scared, wide-eyed look. Her eyes were beginning to get teary again, but she just gulped and blinked unflinchingly, refusing to let a single tear fall. When she spoke, she sounded choked up. "No, Tommy, I think I understand **just** fine," She murmured jadedly, holding back the tears. Her lip trembled slightly, but she sniffed and attempted to compose herself anyways. The bitterness dripped off every word and nearly overwhelmed you. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, and you could see her eyes harden. And then suddenly, you couldn't lie to yourself any more. You couldn't go on pretending that she didn't matter to you because she did. You couldn't act like she meant nothing to you, like you weren't crazy about her, like you didn't have ridiculously deep, serious feelings for her... like she didn't affect you at all. Because she did affect you, and you felt all of those things and knew it was real.

And then, of course, after you'd had this giant revelation, Jude had to go ruin the moment, which was a damn shame, as at that very moment, you were as close to giving in to your feelings as you'd ever been and would ever be... and extremely vulnerable to suggestion. If she'd said the right thing, you would've damned the consequences and gone for it, and it would've been you and Jude against the world. It would've been worth it, you think, if only because you were finally taking a stand. Unfortunately, however, what Jude said was about as far from the right thing as was possible. Damn. "When was your last HIV test?" She asked bluntly and blatantly, without shame. "Please, tell me you've at least had **one**," She said disapprovingly with a disgusted grimace. She was judging you with every word, and you knew it.

You hate the condescension in her voice, how she thinks the worst of you immediately. You may be dumb, but even you're not **that** stupid. When someone has sex as much as you do, you have to be safe. You just can't afford not to... or then you'd be gambling with your life. You are no stranger to STD tests. In fact, you've had your fair share of them, but you took some pills, and they went away. You were lucky. But you'd never tell Jude about that. You have had tests, too. Lots of them. You used to go to the doctor once a week. At first because Darius made you, but it became part of your routine afterwards. You wanted to tell her that you hadn't been with anyone for a while, a long while... in your case. One whole month of abstinence until last night... this morning... whenever. It just hadn't seemed necessary to have meaningless things when what you wanted was always so close at hand. You hadn't felt the need for a meaningless fling with Shay gone, when you could see Jude every day, anytime you wanted.

But, despite that, you'd gotten tested this week anyways. You got off early on Monday and went to your doctor's (like you always do), just because you knew sometimes these things took a while to manifest themselves. And while you were freezing your ass off, sitting there on that examining table in that skimpy white clinical gown, waiting for your test results to come back... all you could think about was her. You'd been thinking about her in that little room too, earlier. And while your eyes barely flicked over those magazines, the images not even registering, visions of her loomed first and foremost in your thoughts. You'd received a clean bill of health, by the way. Disease-free. But you couldn't tell her that because what would she think of you? Jude saw you in such a different light than you were used to being seen. She looked up to you. You were her hero, her partner, her support, her producer. She'd made you into a model of perfection. Jude made an idol of you. And you didn't want to let her down by showing her the side of you that you weren't proud of. "That's private," You replied shortly, brushing her off, giving her the cold shoulder.

You'd turned around, but Jude grabbed your arm and forcibly made you turn around. The force surprised you, so you humored her and didn't move at first. You stared at Jude, almost gaping at her. There was something fierce, almost feral about her wild blue eyes. Something about those eyes entranced you, holding you there, where you shouldn't be, against your will. She was like a siren in that respect, so you gave her your full attention. Her lips were pursed tightly into a deep frown. Her cheeks were white with an almost feverish pallor. She slowly let go of your wrist, but you still didn't move. She ran a hand through her tangled locks, sighing wearily and suddenly looking so much older. Then her teary, intense eyes met yours, and it was as if an electrical current passed between the two of you. A moment later, while you were still caught up in her stare, she blind-sighted you with a hard slap across the face. Both cheeks stung a little, but you figured you deserved it. "You were my _first_, Tommy!" Jude screamed passionately, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks.

When she said that your heart stopped. You didn't know whether you felt better or worse about it, knowing that you, not any other man, had been her _first_. It was sort of flattering, really, and you were sort of glad to know. It felt good to know that you were the first person who had ever touched her there. It felt... right and natural that you should be her first. Hopefully first and **only**, a tiny voice in your head suggested. She obviously wouldn't be giving you any diseases... But then again, it surprised you in a way. She was, after all, a very attractive girl. You were sort of surprised that she and Shay had never... And, you remembered quietly, she sure hadn't acted like a virgin last night... from what you could remember of it, anyways. She hadn't been shy or hesitant at all, but maybe that was because it had been you, and Jude trusted you. Jude had trusted you mistakenly, and you didn't deserve it in the slightest. Her dark blue eyes burned into you accusingly as she pushed you back fiercely. "Forgive _me_, Tommy, for thinking that losing my virginity meant something!" She shrieked hysterically, seething and shaking with rage.

You felt your jaw drop so low that it was almost painful. You didn't know why. It wasn't that surprising, after all, especially since she'd just said you were her first. But your jaw dropped nonetheless. Jude wiped at the tears briskly, dragging her fingers across her face so quickly that her cheeks turned red. She obviously didn't want to back down to you anymore. "Don't look so surprised, Tom," She muttered disgustedly, eyes narrowing. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. "You think I slept with Shay in what, the **two** weeks he was actually here out of our entire two-month relationship?" Jude growled irritably, glowering at you unrelentingly.

No, you wanted to say, you didn't think it was Shay. You thought maybe Jamie, then Shay. Jude really wasn't forward enough to have sex with someone she'd just met two months ago. Although she had had sex with you, and she'd only known you what, maybe four months? And what did that say about her? That she jumped into love like you jumped into bed? Sometimes you thought she wasn't really in love with you at all, that she just had some silly schoolgirl crush on you that she'd convinced herself was love. Her feelings seemed to constantly be changing. One day she was pining for Shay, the next she was falling at your feet. Half of the time she hated you. "I'm insulted," She said venomously, and she was. You could almost feel the anger radiating off of her. Her lips tightened into a thin, narrow line. She gestured towards your bed and the messy, twisted sheets with a casual, dismissive hand. "The proof is on _your_ sheets, if you can't believe me!" She hissed, whirling around and pulling back the sheets.

And there it was, of course, just like she'd said. The proof was on your sheets... and you hated it. You hated yourself for it. You had never, ever doubted her. You didn't have reason to doubt her, but you had all the reasons to believe. You just... you didn't want it to be true. And you'd tried to deny it, but that obviously hadn't worked. You couldn't just... go on, denying it now, now that she'd made it clear in your mind without a doubt. Your eyes were riveted to that dark spot on the bed like it was a car crash. You just couldn't look away, no matter how hard you tried.

_Out, damn spot!,_ you thought futilely, feeling every inch like Lady Macbeth, like a murderer. Out, out, out! Her blood was on your hands now, and you didn't think your hands would ever be clean of this sin. You felt like you'd killed her, and you had, of course. You'd killed a little part of her, that naïve, innocent girl she'd been when you first met her. She certainly wasn't innocent anymore. You'd sure taken care of _that_, hadn't you? She was so young and innocent and pure and sweet and light and... all those things that you weren't, really. It felt like you'd taken that all from her in one fell swoop. You felt low, low like your belly was against the ground low. You were a low-down, disgusting, despicable, worthless excuse for a man. You were a pervert, and you'd as good as raped her.

You felt weak, so you sat back down in the chair, just staring at the bed. Your insides churned menacingly. And then Jude was talking, but you didn't hear the words. You were just staring, staring, staring at that stain. Finally, Jude realized that you weren't paying her any attention. She strutted over to you, placing her hands on your shoulders, and leaning in towards you. Once she got up in your personal space, she pushed you back further, nearly plastering herself against you. Needless to say, she had your attention, all right. Then, like that, Jude stood up, pulling you up with her. Seconds later, she managed to disentangle herself from you with no difficulties at all. She moved away from you warily, as if she was afraid you'd attack her. And why shouldn't she be, with those marks you'd left on her neck?

You wondered how it had been. You kept trying to remember, or you'd get a flash of something... and then it would go away. You hoped it wasn't rough, that you weren't a drunken, slobbering, desperate idiot all over her. She didn't deserve to have a first time like that with a drunken idiot hanging all over her. Or you being rough and fast, just taking what you wanted and casting her off. Your only memories of the night previous ended with (and you could only just barely remember this) you going after her after telling her it never happened. Somewhere in the time between then and this morning, you had caught up with her, gotten more drunk, had sex with her, and then fallen asleep with her. You frowned at the thought, turning your gaze to the woman standing before you.

She was shaking her head, a look of sorrow on her face. "And, you know what... Call me sick, but I don't regret it," She murmured sadly, sighing and playing with her hair. You didn't either, but then again, you did. "I'd do it again," Jude stated honestly. A dangerous blue fire blazed in her eyes. It looked like a spark of the ocean. That... It took your breath away. She meant it with her whole heart. And... so would you. You'd do it again in a heartbeat... if you could only remember it. You suddenly didn't care if anyone found out and sent you to jail. You'd go in fighting and still wanting the forbidden fruit. It couldn't be so bad.

You'd had worse times, like right before you met Darius. You'd been kicked out of school, kicked out of your house, basically abandoned and cast aside by your parents. Hell, you were homeless and living on the street when you met Darius. It couldn't get much worse than that. You were living day to day off of odd minimum wage jobs and the money you made busking on the street corners. You don't remember much of those two years you lived on the street, but you remember two feelings that plagued your days: the chill of a bitingly frigid Canadian winter (you'd lived through three of those...) and that gnawing, ever-present hunger that ate at your empty stomach. It had been tough, living on the streets after you'd been turned out... Only days before Christmas, you remember, since your parents had learned that you wouldn't be coming back that next semester. But you'd grown up there, really grown up, and maybe that was why you were the way you were.

Or, maybe, you were just an asshole bastard with a heart of ice all on your own.

Pasts aside... it was strange sometimes, how much you two were alike. Jude blinked, looking at you through heavy lashes. Her voice wavered, so that you could almost see the tears reforming. "I was waiting for the right guy, someone special," Jude said quietly, looking furtively at the ground. You were standing still, but you froze nonetheless, getting her message. You weren't that special guy. So she'd just lied to you anyways. She did regret it after all. Your spirits sank again. It had been so much easier if you thought that she didn't regret it. If you hadn't been what she was to you: a mistake. Only she wasn't a mistake at all. Still, she continued, and you felt pained.

Jude looked up nervously, staring at you hesitantly, almost as if she was afraid to tell you this. "Shay wasn't special, but you..." She began, pausing as if trying to figure out how to say whatever was next in the right way. You felt hope welling up in your breast, and you cursed the feeling. Jude smiled slightly, gazing at you almost dreamily with those loving eyes of hers. She took a deep breath, so deep that her eyelashes fluttered. "You _are_ the real thing, all right... even better," Jude whispered huskily, echoing words you'd uttered much earlier, grabbing your hand. She laced her fingers in with yours tenderly, and the gesture broke your heart. You were eventually going to have to put a stop to this, but you didn't think you could hurt her again. Every time you hurt her was like a knife through the heart. You didn't think either of you could take much more pain.

You forced yourself to smile back at her, softening your eyes a little, but it felt wrong. The smile on your lips was entirely ill-made, and it was ill-suited and ill-fitting to your features. Jude knew, though. She had a funny way of reading you, of somehow always knowing what was on your mind. And she knew that those dark, sad thoughts were still at the forefront of your thoughts. She sighed heavily, still smiling, this time taking both your hands in hers. "I wanted to wait for _love_, and I did," She replied resolutely, looking you straight in the eyes. You flinched at the word "love", at the idea that she was in love with you when you so **clearly** weren't in love with her. But still, if it wasn't love, what else could this strong, strange feeling you felt for her be? You tried to shy away, but her grip was firm and kept you in place. She wasn't going to let you escape this time. You didn't get to just run away from her. Jude was determined to not let you have the easy way out.

And you think somewhere in there that she knew how much this pained you too, so she obviously wanted you to suffer. If her heart had to be broken, she wasn't just going to let go, to allow it to happen to her; she was going to drag your _sorry_ ass down with her, pardon the pun. "And that guy, that _special_ guy for me was..." She began softly, inhaling slowly. She paused deliberately, licking her lips nervously before finishing. "..._You_," She said finally, smiling shakily at you. A warm, fluttering feeling rose up in your chest against your will, and you forced it down as best you could. It still made you happy, though, to know that you weren't just some fling to Jude. It shouldn't, though. Because if you start thinking like that, it won't be a one-time thing anymore. It'll be a once-a-month thing, then a once-a-week thing, then a once-a-day thing... and then you'll be hopelessly addicted to her. You'll be visiting her on tour and staying to produce her next two albums, and then it'll start getting serious, and then there'll be talk of telling everyone on her eighteenth... And there'll be declarations and sneaking around and... you can't go there. You can't get committed. Not with her, not here, and especially not now.

She's so close though, and you want to kiss her so bad you can just picture it all happening in your head. Jude sighed again, looking down this time as if she was ashamed to tell you whatever it was. A small, wistful smile lingered on her lips. "Remember yesterday morning, when you asked me to make a wish?" Jude asked quietly, trailing off expectantly. You wondered where she was going with this. It was something about the wish, that was for sure. You nodded slowly, eyes on her and only her. Jude was diffident, and she still didn't look at you. She took in a shaky, shallow breath, playing with your joined hands anxiously. "I wished for... Well, it-it wasn't what you'd think. I don't... I don't even think I knew I wanted it until that very moment, but I did. Still do, actually," Jude stuttered, looking oddly flustered. Her skin was flushed, something you found strange. What did she have to be embarrassed of around you? You'd already had sex with her, seen her naked, and seen her at her worst, plus she'd already told you she was in love with you. It really couldn't get any more embarrassing for her.

Just where, exactly, was she going with this? You frowned in contemplation, watching Jude swallow hard. She forced herself to continue on fearlessly. This was hard for her, you could tell. "I didn't wish for you and Shay to get along. I'm not even sure I wanted you two to get along... I just, I don't know. It was the right thing to say. I couldn't have you not getting along, but... I sorta kinda didn't really mind your fighting. At all. I think... I think I **wanted** you to be jealous. Because, I don't know, I thought it meant that you actually, you know, maybe _cared_ about me in the same way I... That was pretty idiotic of me. And look what I got because of it, huh?" She rambled in a rush of breath, looking downright queasy. She was restless, and couldn't even stand still. She kept walking around and sort of pacing, but not really. You shrugged, still confused, but went with it anyways. It sounded sort of manipulative from what you could understand, but you weren't really one to talk on that subject, now were you?

She shook her head, throwing a hand over her eyes as if the light hurt her vision. Maybe she had a headache from whatever liquor she consumed last night at your watch. You ought to get her something for that, maybe an aspirin? You should've bolted to get the pills, but Jude started talking again. "I didn't wish for Shay to come back for good. Nothing to do with Shay, actually. I didn't wish that my parents would stop fighting or that Sadie would be nice to me. I didn't even wish that my album would go platinum or anything involving my career," Jude explained with a deep frown. She exhaled shortly, sliding her fingers away from her eyes and down and off her cheek. She swallowed very hard and made herself look at you, really look at you. It was almost like she was looking through you. Her eyes were a piercing ice-blue, the color your eyes were sometime if you were feeling particularly cool. "I wished for _you_. _You_ were my birthday wish, Tommy. I wanted some sign of how you... how you actually felt about me," Jude murmured passionately, ultramarine eyes glittering with a forgotten fervor.

You couldn't have been any more surprised if she'd said something wholly outrageous. You were this poor girl's birthday wish. Looks like she wasn't disappointed. After all, she had gotten what she wanted from you, right? Jude disconnected one of her hand from yours to wipe away a stray tear. She smiled weakly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And I **sure** got it, didn't I?" Jude remarked ironically, even sarcastically, as she managed to choke out a bitter laugh. She shook her head sadly, wiping away more tears. "I thought that I just wanted to _know_, that knowing was better than the non-stop wondering about how you felt," She exhaled, speaking the words so quickly that they all blurred together like a giant breath. The thin smile fell off her face.

"But it's not," Jude replied sadly, staring at the ground and watching the tears fall. She'd stopped even wiping them away, just staring at the falling drops of saline and holding on to your hand as if it was the only thing anchoring her to this earth. "I mean, in some ways it's a relief to know that I wasn't _completely_ wasting my time with you... that I wasn't just imagining the sparks..." She muttered somewhat distractedly. Then she looked up at you, tear-filled, ultramarine eyes burning into you. And she timidly fingers the hilt of the knife before she ruthlessly heaves it in just a little bit deeper. "That, you know, it wasn't **all** me," She spat bitterly. Jude scowled, throwing her hands in the air in her typical dramatic fashion. "Be careful what you wish for, indeed!" She exclaimed loudly, clearly wishing she'd heeded the warning.

You sat back down in the chair and almost pulled her down with you. Jude leaned over you, caressing your cheek. "I love you, Tommy," She whispered, the last hints of a small smile still on her lips. You didn't know why, but you were smiling back. You liked that she was in love with you. How horribly, terribly selfish was that? Jude pulled back and took her hand off your face. Your cheek felt cold without her touch. "Even if I'm not that girl for you, even if you try and take it back, make me forget... I **won't** forget. 'Cause for one night, you _were_ the right guy. You were the _only_ guy. You were him for me, and that's all that matters. Even if it was only once. 'Cause last night, you loved me back in your own way," Jude swore vehemently. Like her, you'd made a pledge to never forget. It never happened, but you couldn't forget. You weren't the right guy, though. You couldn't even believe she'd made you, of all people, the only guy. You knew you ought to deny it, say that you hadn't loved her back in your own way at all. After all, you didn't remember anything, so you weren't really lying.

Jude knew what you were thinking, though. She shook her head hard, staring you down sternly. "Don't try to deny it because you did," Jude nearly hissed. Then she eyed you with a shrewd look, pursing her lips. Those piercing blue eyes saw right through you yet again. "It was _different_ with me, wasn't it?" Jude questioned in an odd, lilting voice. She was vaguely amused and confident in the knowledge that she was right. You merely swallowed hard, looking at your feet. You didn't have the guts to tell her she was right, and you didn't want to admit it. It had been different with her, though. You really wanted to remember last night. She was... She was _Jude_, and she was phenomenal. The other girls, well, they just weren't Jude. They were only bad imitations of the real thing. And just like you'd said long ago, Jude was _it_, the real thing... even better.

"Different than it's always been for you and those other girls," Jude murmured, grabbing your hand and searching your eyes for something. "You know it's true, Tommy," She continued, still frowning slightly. Yes, you wanted to scream, yes, it **was** true! She _wasn't_ like every other girl that slipped in and out of your bed and then just disappeared from your life. If she'd have you, she was there to stay. As much as you wanted to deny it, there would always be a special place in your heart for Jude. And, honestly, it scared you to death, knowing that you were so attached to the girl. "And you might not love me like I love you..." Jude began slowly, sounding sad. You felt the dull prick of guilt return to torment your conscience. Jude trailed off as if she'd forgotten what she was going to say next or had perhaps thought the better of it, whatever it was.

Jude pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Hell, Tommy, I don't think it's **possible** to love somebody as much as I love you!" She shouted at the top of her lungs. You realized for the first time during this whole awkward conversation that her voice was hoarse. You knew without asking that you had made it that way, and that you were the reason for the dark circles under her eyes. You recoiled at that statement, hating that she loved you, and that she always would... no matter what awful thing you did to her. In her eyes, you could break her heart over and over again, and while what you did was most assuredly wrong... she'd still think you could do no wrong. You'd exposed her to each and every one of your flaws, and she still stayed by your side. She only loved you more, and she was already in too deep. You wished you could love her back the way she loved you, but you knew you couldn't. You and Jude were not wired the same way. Love just... love wasn't in your blood.

A bright, determined look shone in Jude's eyes as she stared at you intently. "But you know you feel the same as I do, even if you _can't_... even if you **won't** admit it," Jude avowed seriously, darkening blue eyes locking with yours. It sounded a hell of a lot like a promise. Only this time, Jude was wrong. Maybe she'd misunderstood the depth of your feelings for her, or maybe you'd misunderstood her meaning... one of you was wrong. You could never feel the same as her, that much was obvious. Did you have similar feelings to Jude? Yes, you did, but you felt no emotion with the intensity Jude did, and you didn't get caught up in a feeling as she did either. Your feelings for Jude were nowhere as deep as hers ran for you- but you had them, and they were deep enough to scare you into silence.

She was right about one thing, though. You couldn't admit it, not even really to yourself. And you were a stubborn, mean bastard, so you wouldn't admit it if you could help it, and, well, you could help it right now. Jude deserved to know the truth, but you didn't want to think about it. You couldn't think about it or else this carefully constructed act of yours would all fall to pieces- and you couldn't have that. You couldn't even really admit how you felt to yourself, and that was if you even knew. You only knew that it wasn't love, not like what Jude felt for you, even nominally.

So, since you couldn't say anything, you just looked down. Jude stalked away from you, flopping down on your bed, groaning. You saw a flash of green and glanced up to notice her dress was once again in a pool on the floor. She was lying on your bed with the sheets pulled up over her head, curled up on her side. You knew you had to do something... you had to say something. The guilt was creeping up on you insidiously, threatening to drown you in despair, sharper than a thousand razor blades. You were choking on your own hypocrisy, gasping for air. The overwhelming urge to "make it better" hit you like a tsunami, knocking all the breath and will out of you, making it hard to breathe. But it was even harder to live with yourself.

How could you after you'd done something so absolutely wretched? You had despoiled something pure. You had thoroughly ruined her and marked her for life as a victim of your careless care and affected air and consideration. She was innocent, but no more, not after you. After you, she was left barren and bereaved and alone, tossed aside like a used tissue. You'd had a whirlwind liaison with her in the heat of the moment, and now you were just casting her aside like a mistress you'd tired of. As if she'd been some random encounter you wished to forget. Only you cherished the memories, but you rued them something fierce at the same time. She was no encounter, no one-night stand, no true love. She was your addiction, plain and simple. And she had addictions too, for she was a masochist who knew better than to chase after you like you were the last and only dream of her soul, but she pursued you anyways because she was addicted to the pain, the bitterly recherche pain of you and her own shattered, broken existence.

"Hey Jude" indeed, you thought. She was the sad song, the sad, broken, mournful love song. You'd already taken the sad song, all right... but after you'd had it in your grasp, how _could_ you make it better? You knew the words of the song by heart now. It was the ringtone to your fancy cellular phone; it was the song inside your head. The lyrics were the words imprinted on your mind, always on your mind. It was your own ironic personal anthem. You knew all the words, but you didn't live them. You didn't follow its advice, and in fact, you usually went in the opposite direction.

_Don't let me down..._ That was like telling a singer to stop singing. Letting people down was all you ever did, all you were used to. You couldn't not; it was in your bones, unshakable. Just like that, you'd made it bad... because when could you ever make something good, anyways? The only good thing you'd ever made was music- and just that... nothing else. You didn't let her into your heart, only you had... Somehow she'd managed to slip past your formidable defenses, past your high castle walls and flying monkey guard, to assume her rightful throne as the chief object of your unfortunate affections.

You weren't afraid in the slightest of, well, of her, anyways. You were afraid of yourself and the terrible things you could and would do... had already done. You sure found her. You went out and got her in your car last night, all right, but you'd gotten more than you'd bargained for, more than you'd expected. You hadn't expected to wind up in bed with her after a night of fun, perhaps the only fun she'd had since Shay and his new paramour had crashed the party. And, of course, she'd gotten further under your skin than even your own muscles and bones. She was in your veins and all around. She was everywhere and everything.

She was absolutely inescapable.

And you wanted desperately to just give in to her, so very badly did you long for it, but you couldn't. It hurt to keep holding yourself back from taking that one step, but you had done it willingly and for your own good, the both of you, until... last night. You should have refrained, but you were carrying the world upon your shoulders and even old Atlas needs to shrug once in a while. How could you not worry about this when she loved you and you'd just shattered her heart into a million pieces for the **second** time in as many days and if anyone ever found out that you'd... almost in a way treated her the same... that you'd even _encouraged_ her feelings and then taken advantage of her like this- you'd wind up in jail serving five to ten. Maybe, just maybe, if you were lucky, but you're never lucky.

You didn't care if you were a fool because you had been a fool your whole damn life before Jude, and you'd continue to be the same old asshole after Jude. _It's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder_, the song taunted, pronouncing a miserable judgment upon yourself. That didn't matter anyways. Your world was already frozen as it had been since you'd spent your first Christmas on the streets- but no, you think it was frozen even before then because you were never **good** enough for Daddy and Mommy was too damn busy drinking and screwing the pool boy to care about Little Tommy. And while the presents had been there, had _always_ been there until the day they kicked you out of that cushy little suburban paradise and picked up their lives like you were nothing to them and moved away to another country... the sentiment hadn't. And what was a present without the sentiment? It was like an empty promise, that's what it was. A gift to pacify you, to bribe you, to "satisfy" you, and a lousy freaking present to **love** you!

But playing it cool, or at least as cool as you could, was not a foolish thing at all. It didn't reflect a languishing interest, and you weren't trying to win her... not that you needed to try. Playing it cool was the smartest thing you could do. It was the best thing you could do for both you and Jude. It was what you needed to do, and you didn't have any choice in the matter. It was practically a mandate from God, and you couldn't deny an order from God, now could you? God and your conscience and the media and society and your friends and your boss and her parents and the law!

You were made to go out and get the girl, true enough. You were some dark, romantic lord in a Gothic novel, some Fabio character in a bodice-ripping paperback, some action-movie superhero flying around in tights and saving the girl, you were that actor with the dreamiest smile and the bluest eyes, you were some knight defending your lady's honor complete with the white steed and matching pure banner, you were that singer with that low, husky voice that made women throw themselves at you. You were the epitome of those things and more, so much more. But you weren't some happy sap who trusted people like that and easily fell in love; you were you. And so simultaneously, despite all your many charms and trappings of wealth and good looks, you were not the man who actually sought the girl.

It came so easily to you that they came to you willingly, and you never really wanted any of them. You never saw any of them as anything more than an empty conquest, a challenge just waiting to be vanquished. You were not honorable; you were dishonorable, in fact, nor were you kind. You just were, and you weren't the type to change because you simply didn't know how.

_Let it out and let it in..._ You had done that, just as you had breathed deeply, slowly. It was an action that came to you easily and effortless, like lying. You've had a lot of practice in all three, and as you always tell Jude, practice does indeed make perfect. Not that you're perfect. In fact, you're so far from perfect that it's almost laughable- that is, if your flawed lifestyle wasn't so damn pathetic. You weren't waiting for someone to perform with, either, because you'd already shown that you could act like a pro all on your own. You didn't want to drag Jude into this sick game of yours either. You didn't want to have her lying for you because this was all _your_ fault, and **you** didn't even deserve her protection.

It was just you; you alone were responsible for the terrible error that had occurred on your part. _Hey Jude, you'll do_, the song mocked, satirizing your selection process... like you'd just pointed at her and said that. Yes, you'll do. You will suffice. You're okay... but only sufficient. She had done, too, for the night, but it was better than just sufficient- it was better than any you've ever had. You suppose all forbidden fruit must taste like that. There's something about it being banned that only makes you want to consume more and more of it until you are finally gorged and become a greedy, gluttonous pig. You're already so damn hungry and already a pig, so just one more step will push you over the edge and into something you'd loathe to be.

_The movement you need is on your shoulder_, the song chirps. What kind of movement, you wonder? Your conscience, perhaps? It sounded more like a parrot to you, and that's how you felt. You felt you were some peculiar sort of parrot who all day long uttered worthless words and phrases that never made any sense, half of them expletives. You did, after all, have a lot to swear about. Did you need some inducement to action?

No, no, you didn't because as you were thinking this your feet began to move of their own accord. You stepped towards her with a confidence you didn't feel, and you heard her stifled cries for the first time. Her sobbing got louder and louder as you got closer, and your heart became heavier and heavier, weighed down by leaden guilt. Each weight added tore the muscle of your badly-stitched heart open a little hurt, ripping out the seams so painfully you wanted to cry out. You knew you couldn't make it. And as for her heart, well, you were sure you were gonna break it. You were racked by guilt, weakened so you were only standing through some divine miracle. You had to face the truth now, even if it was a painful one.

The truth was that you couldn't even begin to make it better. You couldn't even come close. Your wishes and silent promises and proclamations weren't going to come true. _The pain won't come back, Jude_, you'd sworn resolutely to yourself after the tomfoolery (it literally was tomfoolery for you were Tom, and you had been a an even bigger fool than you usually were then) of last night, but it had returned, nonetheless. The crippling pain of separation and isolation was killing the both of you, but you'd rather die than give in again. Neither of you could afford that. But you had been a dirty liar, because it did and at full force!

You exhaled softly, stopping directly in front of Jude. You could see her form shaking underneath the sheets. You wondered if she knew you were there, standing directly in front of her. Could she sense your presence the way you always knew when she was in a room? Maybe not, with the way she was shuddering and crying her eyes out. You felt horrible for causing her this pain. But still you were compelled to fix it, even though you knew you couldn't.

For a few minutes, you wondered what to do, what you could possibly say. And then, all of a sudden, you knew exactly what to do. You got down on your knees, humbling yourself, trying to lower yourself to her level. You slowly peeled back the thin sheet enough so that you could see her face. Her eyes were shut tightly as if she was protecting herself against a harsh gust or an even harsher world. Tears streamed down her face in straight rivulets before taking a sharp turn and dripping down over her nose and unto the bed. You placed your hand soothingly on her forehead, trying to placate her with your mere presence. The moment was strangely serene. Jude opened her teary eyes slowly.

She seemed surprised to see you there, and the saline droplets practically froze in place on her eyelashes. She stared at you with wide, disbelieving, impossibly azure eyes. You smiled at her softly, and your hand slid off her forehead, down the side of her cheek. Jude looked downtrodden at this, like you'd just given her some hope and then cruelly yanked it away. However, your hand came down to brush away the tears, to dry her cheek. She smiled at you weakly, looking at you with such love in her eyes that it pained you to meet her gaze. You let your hand linger on her cool cheek too long because you couldn't bear to be away from her. When would you ever get a chance like this again, to touch her whenever you wanted... wherever you wanted, you thought lecherously.

Jude shifted, propping herself up on her arm to get a better look at you. Her lips curved into an amused smile. She had brought the Almighty Tom Quincy to his knees, and what a mighty achievement that was. Only it wasn't such a big achievement, because tons of groupies could boast the same thing. Jude smiled at you like a conqueror would to a subjugated people, victorious and slightly smug. Grinning at you lazily, Jude reached over, draping her arm around your neck. She waited a second to see if it was okay before she languidly, to be sure she was doing the right thing, pulled you into a kiss. Almost immediately, you close your eyes and just... gave in to the sensation. You tenderly put your hands on both sides of her face, softly brushing your lips against hers.

This, however, did not satisfy Jude. She crashed her lips into yours, kissing you deeper and deeper. It drove you crazy, left you breathless and reeling. You hadn't meant for the kiss to be so... passionate. You hadn't intended to kiss her again, but you were and you didn't mind it in the slightest. It was supposed to be gentle. You nibbled along her bottom lip, kissing her again and again and again until you couldn't string a coherent thought together. Eventually, however, you had to pull away from lack of oxygen. It was good that you did, too, or you might've gotten carried away. You removed your hands from her cheeks, but her hand slid up your neck to rest on your cheek.

You were still so close to her, and you could still taste her on your lips. Her eyes were still half-lidded, her cheeks flushed. She smiled sadly at you, trailing her nimble fingers down the length of your jawbone. She sighed wearily, looking you directly in the eye as if she was trying to divine some supreme truth from your ocean-blue stare. Her gaze was searching, probing, and deep like she was trying to see through you. She licked her lips nervously, looking worried. "Do you love me, Tommy?" She asked plaintively, so innocently that it almost broke your heart.

As you stared deeply in her eyes, you wanted nothing more than to say yes. But you couldn't do that. You couldn't lie to her- not about something as important as this. You sighed softly, covering her fingers with your own. You wanted to look down so that you didn't have to face her, but for some reason you couldn't break her stare. You had trouble even blinking. You tried to smile to reassure her, but your attempt failed miserably. The half-smile didn't reach your eyes, and Jude's eyes only looked all the more worried. She had to know what you were... Or maybe she didn't. You wondered how clear you'd really been with her about your feelings. To avoid dealing with it, you just used can'ts and don'ts and shouldn'ts... But you'd never actually told her how you felt.

You were terrified of how you felt and still so unsure about everything. But you had to tell her now; there was no alternative. You couldn't get out of this. You had to tell her. It was just hard to get up the nerve. You sighed again, raggedly this time. The hand covering hers grabbed it and pulled her hand down and off your face. You met her stare unashamedly, finally being honest with her. "Not the way you want me to," You whispered hoarsely, leaning your forehead against hers.

Jude's pretty ultramarine eyes filled with tears almost immediately. She managed to nod, though, a thin, grim smile on her lips. Her bottom lip quivered dangerously, and as the tears began to fall, you let her bury her head in the crook of your neck. As she sobbed against your neck, you reached up, stroking her sullen, strawberry-colored hair. She sniffled briefly, sobering enough so that she could murmur something to you. Her breath was warm against your neck and the sensitive area under your ear; it made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "That's what I thought," She breathed tearfully, shifting her head so she could talk to you, but not removing it from your shoulder. Her soft, warm, swollen lips pressed against your cold, cold skin. You nearly moaned at the feeling. She hadn't meant anything by it, and she started crying again, slowly and less frantically this time.

Your heart broke for her. You wrapped your arm around her head carefully, pulling her closer to you. You exhaled slowly, making soothing noises to try to get the tears to stop. You noticed that sheets had slipped down around her, so you pulled them up. You rose to your feet carefully, sitting down on the bed, cradling her in your arms. You just sat there, holding her as she cried, because you could do nothing else. You needed to say something to her to show her that you didn't feel nothing for her, but what to say? "Jude, I might not be in love with you, but I..." You began quietly, trailing off, wondering how to finish the phrase. You were going to say that you loved her, but you figured that might confuse her and give her false hope, so you refrained. You thought for a moment, stroking her hair. "I care about you _deeply_, Jude. You mean a lot to me," You murmured sincerely, pulling her further into your arms.

You meant that, too. She did mean a lot to you. In a strange way, your happiness was dependent on her happiness... Not that you were a happy man by any stretch of the word. Jude glanced up quickly, less a moment later, tears still streaming down her face, and managed to smile at you. It was a sad, weak smile, but a smile nonetheless, and that gave you hope. You smiled back, meaning it this time. You suddenly remembered what it was about Jude that you liked the most... the way that she wore her heart on her sleeve. She was honest in a way you never could be, and you envied her for that. Jude exhaled softly, burrowing her head back into the crook of your neck. You smiled absentmindedly, stroking her hair. This felt so right. You suddenly realized that you were happy, really happy, for the first time in ages.

However, your stomach growled ominously, and you felt for the first time just how hungry you were. You must've worked up quite an appetite last night. Jude must be hungry too, you thought, gazing down at her. You wanted to take her out to lunch, but how would that look with her wearing the wrinkled, ruined silk from last night? You couldn't do it. Besides, how awkward would that be, eating with her after... You should at least make her breakfast or something. You owe her that much, at least. You never, never make any girl breakfast. In fact, you only made your wife breakfast once your whole marriage, and that was the day after your wedding night.

Then you remembered that you had work right now, and you were already at least three hours late. You had to go now, and damn, was Georgia going to rip you up for this one. You could only imagine how angry she'd be if she found out what you'd done to Jude. She saw so much potential in Jude, and you knew she saw her as a means of getting the label out of its current state of near financial ruin. So, as gently as you possibly could, you set Jude back down on the bed. Jude looked at you with wide, panicked eyes, not understanding your sudden change of heart. You threw a smile over your shoulder at her, scrambling around the room in order to find some clothes you could wear. You grabbed a pair of jeans and a black leather belt from your closet, spotting a black button-up shirt way back in the corner on the floor. You seized the shirt, tugging up the jeans, doing your belt up in a flash. You shrugged the shirt on hurriedly, turning around to see Jude frowning at you.

You realized what she was thinking, that you were leaving her alone in your bed. You must seem heartless to her. You shook your head, trying to think of a way to explain what you were doing. You speedily buttoned up your shirt, the one you'd been wearing down at the farm when you'd kissed Sadie like an idiot. You found a pair of sneakers in your closet, shoving them on your feet. Jude thought you were all in a sweat to leave, and her face was accordingly cold and dignified. She was now sitting up, leaning forward a little. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking as proud as a queen, and regarded you with a skeptical eye. You walked towards her slowly, deliberately.

Jude rose to her feet, clutching the sheets around herself. You bent down as you walked to pick up her clothes, which were strewn all over the room. You didn't know why, but you needed to do this. You set everything down on a spindly chair near Jude as you approached her, undergarments in hand. She cocked an eyebrow, looking confused. You tugged the sheet out of her hands, throwing it off towards your bed. Jude only blinked, completely bewildered. She crossed her arms over her chest embarrassedly. You made a gesture with your hands, trying to explain to her what you were doing without uttering a single word. The light of understanding flickered in Jude's eyes, but it looked as if she'd rather do it herself. But you didn't give her that option; knowing only that you needed to do this.

Panties in hand, you got down on your knees. Jude shifted awkwardly, looking incredibly uncomfortable. You suddenly understood what she was thinking, and you flushed, embarrassed. You never blushed. You held the underwear out, and she stepped into it, blushing nearly as red as her hair. Once she had stepped into the article of clothing, you slowly began to pull the panties up her legs. Your fingers brushed against her smooth, creamy legs. She was surprisingly warm to the touch. Jude's eyes fluttered closed. As you pulled the fabric up further and further, your fingers started shaking more and more. You tried to play it off, flashing a nonchalant smile, but she was really getting to you. Finally, your arms refused to stretch anymore, so you had to stand up, so close to her. She was almost completely naked, if not for the thin piece of fabric that was currently half up her thighs. For a moment, you wondered why you were tugging the clothes on, and not the other way around. After all, you were rather fond of the view. Your fingers were trembling so much you could barely move them, and you tried to look anywhere but Jude in a failed attempt to make this intimate moment not so awkward. She took a sharp intake of breath as you finally pulled them up all the way. Your hands rested lightly on her hips.

Jude was breathing fast, clearly very affected by your presence. You smiled at her, attempting to reassure her, but it came off as you being cocky again. You leaned back and picked up her bra. It was a fancy black lace push-up bra with a dark crimson ribbon trim. It somehow seemed out-of-place on Jude, strangely adult and elaborate. Smiling shyly, you pulled Jude's arms down. She blushed and looked down embarrassedly. You put her arms through the proper holes, trying not to stare at her chest so blatantly. Only you couldn't look away. You exhaled in a hiss, pulling the straps up her arms slowly, so slowly, that it was like death. You suddenly realized why you needed to do this. _Eyes drink your last..._ Then you reached around Jude, hands skimming the sides of her breasts, until your chest was flat against hers. You grasped both sides of the black lace back, fastening the clasp together. There was only one clasp, too, and you were surprised you hadn't broken it in your haste to undress Jude last night. In your memories, it had been a rushed, spur-of-the-moment thing.

You still kept your arms around her, hands on her back. Jude smiled at you shyly. Next you gingerly picked up her dress, placing it over her head and then slowly pulling it down over her bra and flat stomach, down her hips and thighs until it reached the place it was supposed to fall. You straightened the hemline the way a mother or a seamstress would, pressing down all the wrinkles with your fingers. Jude stared at you with dark eyes, and you smirked back at her, smoothing imaginary folds in the thin silk. When this was done, you picked up her earrings (which had been on the nightstand on her side of the bed). You deftly separated earring back and earring, leaning forward so far that your breath brushed against her ear as you breathed.

You put the earring in the hole much the same as you had last night, fastening the back on with a little difficulty. You took a step back, walking towards her other side, and repeating the process with the other ear. Jude flicked both earrings, grinning stupidly. She was so unfailingly optimistic. Maybe you were misleading her... but how was that possible? You were, after all, redressing her, not the other way around! No matter how much you wanted to... God, you'd rather she stayed naked. You shook your head as if to clear it of these thoughts, grabbing her necklace and walking around her. You undid the clasp of her elaborate jade necklace, holding it up to her neck for a moment before fastening it. You paused there for a moment, smelling her skin, her hair, trying to memorize the scent. Then you abruptly removed your hands from her shoulders, walking around to face her.

You grabbed her shoes, making her sit down on the anorexic chair. Then you bent down and carefully slid each black high heel on her feet. You stepped back and Jude rose to your feet, looking regal and almost the same as last night, only her hair was down, messy, and dirty, and her clothes were rumpled. You picked up the final item, handing her her purse. Jude grinned amusedly, rolling her eyes at you. You were amazed at how normal she was acting. She was acting like nothing had happened whatsoever... Something even you, King of Denial, couldn't do. "What next, you gonna do my make-up, Quincy?" Jude quipped sarcastically. She pulled out lipstick and a compact as if to prove it.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling suddenly that she was mocking your good will. She was acting like you were some creepy stalker. She needed to get a cold dose of reality and remember who was in love with who here. You forced the negative thoughts from your mind, rolling your eyes at her. Who cared if she mocked you? She had dirt on you for life... it wasn't as if you could do anything about it. Plus, hadn't she been the party more embarrassed in this situation? First of all, waking up in bed with a strange man like a common whore, and then having her declaration of love fall on unreceptive ears? You needed to learn to let things go, to have a little less self-pride. Jude walked over to your full-length mirror, examining herself in it critically. Her lips quirked up into a half-smile as she placed her hands on her hips dramatically, imitating a model by taking a spin and posing for the mirror. "All dressed up and no place to go," She muttered ironically, scolding her reflection. She blew your reflection in the mirror a kiss.

You had to get out of here, and she was making it easy for you! So... why weren't you leaving? It was foolishness not to. If you didn't leave now, you'd wind up doing something like staying and repeating the process that got you in so much trouble the first time around. Think of an excuse, think of an excuse. "I have to go to work," You said quickly, already halfway to the door. It was the truth, too, no lie. Jude just nodded, a bitter smile on her lips and a listless look in her eyes. You felt another annoying pang of guilt, and you wished you could just will it away. It wasn't right to be leaving like this. The "I want you out when I get back" was unspoken, but you wondered nonetheless if she'd figured it out.

Why were you lingering here so? It only gave her more time to say something that would make you want to stay. You walked further towards the door, hating how cruel and cold you felt with every step. Your hand was on the door when you heard Jude's voice call out to you. "So, Tommy, was I good in the sack?" Jude questioned loudly, ensuring that you heard her all the way from your bedroom. Seeing as you were in the hall, this was a rather impressive feat. Her voice rang out and echoed almost like an accusation.

You snapped your eyes shut, refusing to budge an inch or to turn around and look at her. It was very hard to resist, but you managed to do that. So she was making it hard for you, then. Damn, you knew you should've left while you had the chance. "Jude... I can't answer that," You grunted irritably, gritting your teeth. Presently, you wished for nothing more than to leave. You could answer that, though, and it was a bittersweet yes that resounded in your brain, echoing in the empty space there annoyingly, trying, like Jude herself, to make you go mad. You grimaced at the answer, knowing it wouldn't do.

Jude's voice was bitter and frustrated this time. There was something incredibly adult and altogether immature about it. She sounded like a spoiled child who was about to throw a fit because she didn't get what she wanted. What she wanted was obviously you, and she obviously couldn't have you. For someone whose father was so into the British Invasion, you'd have thought that she, of all people, would know that _you can't always get what you want_. You surely can't... because if you did, you'd be back in bed with her. You wouldn't have to go into work all week (although technically you didn't have to work at all). She'd be twenty-one and perfectly legal to be all yours and exclusively yours. And you would love her back in that crazy, amazingly life-altering way she loved you. "God, Tom, what is with you lately? It's _just_ a question. A very simple yes or no question. Just answer me. It's not exactly rocket science," Jude sniped annoyedly, finally expressing some of the anger and bitterness she clearly harbored towards you.

You were glad for that. After all, you, of all people, knew that it wasn't healthy to bottle things up. Jude deserved to be furious at you. You had brought it on yourself by committing this deep, dark, unholy sin. You deserved her worst, her full fury. Hell hath no rage like a woman scorned... You wished Jude would show more. You could handle her anger so well that it was like an old friend come to visit. You always knew what to say to pacify her and calm her down. Too bad you weren't practicing any of those techniques today. You gripped the doorknob hard, knuckles turning white. "I'm not going to answer that," You stated coolly.

Anything you could say would help no one, least of all Jude. It would only make this sorrow of parting all the more sour, all the more bitter, and all the more difficult. You were tired of everything being so damn hard. You weren't used to living like this, to always have to watch out for yourself. You weren't used to controlling your wild impulses. You were used to living an easy, comfortable life... free of attachments. This was by no means normal to you. You were not an emotional guy, not the kind of man whom empathy and guilt choked. You didn't think, but Jude made you think all the time. She always kept you on your toes, watching out for her, caring about her... It was first after first after first with her. And you hated it; God, how much you hated it, every bittersweet, sappy minute of it. You hated feeling and you loathed sentiment; you abhorred emotion. You were frozen, and you had always been that way... until her.

It was just the way things worked. It was the way your life worked. You missed your old, Jude-free life. Yes, it had been free of complication, free of effort, but it was lacking in a few key matters of importance... It was empty of substance, devoid of deep feeling. So it was a half-life... You played it up big for the cameras and screwed around a lot, but you had no one to come home to at the end of the day. Your life was pointless before Jude. Your life was meaningless without her. You floated around carefree, but without a rock or a Northern star to steady you, to ground you to the Earth... Until Jude came along and checked and balanced you. Your life alone was worthless. And if she wasn't in it, _you_ were empty. "Why... 'cause I was a **lousy** lay?" She interjected boldly, hurt edging into her voice despite her attempt to be strong.

You shook off the miserable thoughts, coming back into yourself at her sudden question. It was definitely not that that kept you mum. In fact, it was rather quite the opposite. But telling her she was good would only make things worse. It would add a layer of irony that you didn't need at this present moment. It was just another reason to stay there with her, to repeat that forbidden act that both of you were so talented at. You forced the images away from your mind, trying to remind yourself that you wished it had never happened in the first place. Only that was a lie, and you knew it. Lying to yourself was the worst kind of lie there was. You were forced to turn around at this comment, which had probably been Jude's intent. You shook your head at her, staring at her intently and letting your thoughts run wild. "No... Jude, it's not that, not that at _all_..." You explained somewhat distractedly, staring off into the distance.

In fact, you were staring at your bed, straining your brain in vain to try and remember some more delicious details of last night. And when your memories came up blank, you resorted to fantasizing. Your eyes were glazed, and you were so off in the world of X-rated daydreams that you didn't even notice her coming closer until she waved her hand in your face. She crossed her arms over her chest once she knew she had your attention, stealthily pulling the dress down a little to better show off her cleavage. "So then I was good in bed," She remarked slyly, a smug smile plastered ear-to-ear.

You scowled at her, feeling a sudden surge of rage and hatred for her. You hated her twisting your words like a snake. It was true, though, which made you resent it all the more. She'd hit the nail on the head. Funny, that sounded a lot like what she did to you last night. You grimaced, wishing you could turn off the constant flood of perverted thoughts. They were just embarrassing in Jude's presence, and the more and more you thought about it, the more constricting your already too-tight jeans became. You should've never worn jeans from your boybander days. You knew they were from your ass-shaking, bandanna-wearing days because they were distressed like Jude's usually were and not overly baggy, the fashion of the mid-to-late nineties. You flushed a little, growing increasingly frustrated by the moment. You were probably red in the face, too. Just fantastic, you thought, scowling. "No, I didn't say that!" You exclaimed, backing away, obviously flustered.

Jude rolled her eyes at you, raising her hands in a surrendering position. Her thoughts were written across her face: You were too touchy and being such a baby about this! Your scowl deepened, and you hoped to scare her straight by focusing it on her. She wouldn't go back to normal, and she wouldn't shut up. You suddenly understood why you kissed her so often this morning: to shut her up. Oh, how you longed to shut her up now! You didn't want to hear it, and she didn't get that. You didn't have the time, even though you owed it to her. Jude shrugged coolly. "Well, you said I wasn't lousy. Now you're saying I'm not good? I'm quite confused, Tommy. What **do** you really mean?" She pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

She was obviously awaiting an answer. And she was doing it rather impatiently, too, come to think of it. Too bad she wasn't get one. Didn't she understand that you were a master at avoiding the truth like the plague? You were no open book, and once something got shut up in your Fort Knox of secrets- it stayed there. Like this one would, hopefully. Then again, they say two people can keep a secret... if one of them is dead. What if Jude told someone? What then? You hadn't thought she'd do it, but now you didn't know. If she did, you were most surely doomed to a life of solitary confinement, gang showers, kitchen duty, and being Bubba's girlfriend unless you fought to establish a rep and brought in plenty cigarettes. And they'd freeze all your assets, of course, and give some to Jude's family and your lawyer as compensation/pay. Not that that made her sound like a hooker or anything. You were the only one who had any reason to keep this secret, you realized with a sickening lurch in your stomach. "Nothing... okay?" You hissed, eyes narrow slits.

No shame would be brought to Jude because she was the minor here, and she had been taken advantage of... She was in love with you, for Heaven's sake! Jude was no whore, and plenty of women had "been there, done that" with you. It was a well-known, established fact. You needed some insurance that she wouldn't... Knowledge that she held no grudge or bitterness against you. You needed, once again, to make her promise. Hopefully this one would be last heartbreaking than the last two. Jude glowered at you, shaking her head, hands on her hips defiantly. It was that very defiance that worried you so. "No. I won't accept that as an answer," She declared frostily, pausing for a moment, looking thoughtful, before continuing, "Was I _just_ okay, then? I mean, honestly, Tommy, I **need** some feedback here. And you're a whore in your own right, so I figure you, of all people, would know if I was good. Or great. Awesome. Whatever."

Your jaw almost dropped as you found yourself surprised with her casual crudeness. She was nowhere near as crude as you, but she was not usually so blunt. You were rubbing off on her and influencing her in a very, very bad way. You couldn't help but worry for her. You were a whore. There was honestly no getting around that fact. You were beyond experienced and beyond qualified to give her the answer she asked for. Under normal situations, you would've been glad to tell her, but now you dreaded it more than anything else in the word. Why tell her? Why tell her, only to get her hopes up for something that would never happen? Why tell her only so she could go out and have sex with other, strange older men, knowing full well how good she was... how much of a _natural_ she had been once you'd plucked her strings... and using the tricks and moves you'd taught her on those perverts, who were no worse than you. She was supposed to be _your_ girl, and **only** your girl- no one else's! She was only supposed to have sex with you because, damn it, she was **_yours_**. She was crazy if she actually thought you'd critique her performance, most of which you didn't even remember (not that it had been forgettable in any way), tell you that she was the best sex of your life, and brand Tom Quincy, Sex God/Gold Medalist/Professional/Therapist... brand your stamp of approval for sexual activities on to her ass. "_Jude_..." You groaned wearily, fed up with all of this fighting.

Why didn't she get that you didn't want to answer her? "I have the right to ask, Tom," She stated sternly, staring you down fiercely, reminding you just why she had this elusive privilege. Not that you could ever forget, except all the details. She was pulling that card on you again. You said nothing, putting up the old stone mask. She nodded, trying to be understanding, only she didn't understand at all for the first time you could remember. "Ah, I see, still not answering... What's the excuse this time? You seemed to have _no_ trouble telling me how you really feel about me, and this question is really far less hurtful," She continued calmly, knowing how much her words would sting. Then again, she thought you were unfeeling, so what harm could a handful of words do to a man like you, made of ice and steel? You were stubborn to a fault, and here that manifested itself as sticking to your convictions. Jude tried to be irreverent about it, but she really did want to know. Sadie had probably given her a few insecurity issues.

You swallowed down the truth, which was threatening to vomit back up. Jude shrugged again, toeing the ground nervously, looking down embarrassedly. When you were sure she wasn't looking at you, you smiled a wide, satisfied smile that would've answered her question in a heartbeat. "I mean, I was a virgin before you, so I don't expect you to say I was _mindblowing_ or anything. Okay would really be good. After all, everyone improves with experience," She clarified awkwardly, clearing her throat. Or a good teacher, you added mentally, knowing full well that you could be that man for her. Just think of how much you'd already taught her about music. What she'd said was true; there were so many things you could teach her still. At least, that's what you thought. Practice makes perfect. Jude is relating it to her music and rightly so because you can serve as a guide, a Svengali to her in both areas. Not that she needs Little Tommy Q's lessons on how to be a porn star. Jude's not that kind of girl, and you don't want to make her into one.

She looked up at you, intensity shining in her deep blue eyes. Her eyes looked like the bottom of a freshwater well, murky, but still almost navy and clear. "It's something I can fix, unlike you loving me..." She promised, not intending for the remark to cut you as it clearly had. It was the truth, too, and you couldn't deny that. She deserved to always tell you the truth because Jude was one of the few people who could do that and live. Besides, Jude hated liars, and she wasn't about to become a hypocrite for you. She sighed, realizing how callous that had come out sounding. "'Cause I can't really do anything about that. I mean, you either do or you don't," She elucidated quickly, trying to repair her mistake. She couldn't help the remark that followed, or the ragged sigh that escaped from her lips and the way her shoulders slumped. "And you don't," She lamented quietly, her voice only a scratch above a whisper.

She took a deep breath to try and clear her mind of these depressing thoughts. They totally killed any chances she had at insistent fury. She coughed, glancing down briefly before forcing her eyes back on your increasingly unwelcome form. You hated this, this stilted, painfully awkward conversation! _This_ was why you had no female friends: you screwed every last one of them, and they couldn't deal with it. "But this, this is a different matter," She mumbled briefly, breezing on to the next part, "Now, come on, Tom, tell me... Give me your _honest_ opinion." She didn't want your honest opinion, though, no matter what she said. She wanted you to say that she was mindnumbingly amazing and wild and... perfect. Which of course she was... all of those things and more, but ... Psh, like you were going to tell her that!

It goes against your principles, not that you have especially strong ones, but this is your main one: don't let Jude know how phenomenal she was. Jude narrowed her eyes at you, leaning back to peer at you. She was uncomfortable with your all too close proximity. "Okay, apparently that's too difficult for you, which shouldn't be surprising..." She snapped harshly, taking a breath and making herself be civil with you. You didn't deserve civility from her anywhere other than at work, where it was absolutely necessary, so why was she trying so hard? Why was she putting up with your endless baggage? You were a piece of work, one she shouldn't have even involved herself with in the first place. Why was she trying to fundamentally change her character for you? You sure as hell weren't worth it. "Let's start with something easier, then. Okay? Okay, I got it! ...What did I do that you really liked? I mean, what drove you **crazy**... in the good way, of course... Uh, okay... Anything that really repulsed or annoyed you? ANYTHING?!" She inquired in a barrage of even more intimate questions.

Your eyes widened at the unexpected assault. You kept wanting her to give up, only she never did. Not once. It wasn't in her nature. You sighed exhaustedly, feeling for the first time all morning how weary you were. You must've kept her up all night. When that dawned on you, you suddenly wondered just _how_ many times you'd had sex with her. It had to be more than once, at least... Most probably far higher even than that number. You had, after all, kept her up all night. No amount of foreplay could take up that long. Your bones ached a little; you weren't as young as you once were, but you had twice the stamina. It was a fair trade off, you supposed. It had definitely been a marathon session last night. "I can't..." You muttered weakly, meaning it. You honestly couldn't remember much of anything she'd done, but you were sure that _none_ of it had been unpleasant.

Not that you'd tell her that either. You didn't want her to get a big ego like you. Jude's widened eyes became narrow slits in her fury. She crossed her arms over her chest, turning the full force of that venomous, withering stare on you. Her eyes reminded you of the color of your Viper when it had just been washed and waxed and shone like a sapphire in the sun on a hot summer day- as it had at the farm. "You seem to be saying that a lot. Now, could you please..." Jude retorted testily. Then all of a sudden, her eyes lit up with a revelation. You gulped, worried that a possible new problem had sprung up. You didn't want to fix anything else. "_Oh_, I think I know what this is about! You're worried about your sexual performance, aren't you?" Jude queried excitedly, almost clapping her hands together.

You were mortified. What, did she think you had some... difficulties... that would require a little blue pill? But then again, even if you were lousy, which of course you weren't because you're Tom Quincy and you take pride in the sexual act above all others... she was a virgin, so what would she know? Nothing, of course. Then again, she also wouldn't know if it had been amazing... to her any such experiences were amazing, and you were a pro at this. Wouldn't it suck if she expected this same standard from every man she ever slept with- and there would _have_ to be more than you, of course, because it was the Twenty-first Century, not the 1950's, and thanks to Sex and the City there was no such thing as a woman who didn't nail her boyfriends and have one-night stands, which was usually to your benefit, since you made a habit of screwing every Samantha-wannabe in town. But it would suck if she always expected the sex to be as great as it was with you. Oh well, you supposed. After all, it only gave her all the more reason to sleep with you again and again and again... And only you, so she'd never be dissatisfied. You, after all, were a special case... not like those other losers out there. "Well, actually..."

Jude smiled brightly, interrupting you. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, as if she thought your sexual insecurity (which was laughable, as she'd merely assumed it to be so when really it was the opposite) was adorable. You were more than confident in your considerable sexual abilities. "No, no, Tommy, it's okay. You have nothing to worry about," She swore up and down, laughter dancing in her eyes. In some ways, as embarrassing as this situation was to you, you were glad to see that she was smiling again. Jude frowned, staring off into space thoughtfully, trying to find a way to express your sexual proficiency. She pursed her lips and finally managed to think of something. "I mean, I'm a virgin and all, but you were... I mean, wow! You were amazing! Um... not that I'm surprised or anything, because you look totally bangable, but, um... It was _beyond_ good... There just, there are no adjectives for it, really," She proclaimed breathlessly, a satisfied grin on her swollen lips.

Her index finger lazily fingered her bottom lip, over and over. You had to bite your lip to avoid moaning. It's like she did that just because she knew how badly you wanted her. She wanted to seduce you back into that bed, damn her. And it was working, too! Jude leaned in a little, trailing her finger up the broad plane of your chest, smiling coyly. "You completely **rocked** my world, to be honest. And not like the cheesy boybander that you are, _hard_, like a punk rocker. I think the Sex Pistols would be proud," She growled, hissing the words right into your ear. She licked her lips when she leaned in further to whisper the words directly into your ear, placing a hand on the back of your neck and giving you goosebumps. Her breath was hot against your inflamed skin, and her lips were sticky-sweet and pink like candy. Coming from Jude, that was just about the best compliment you could get unless she compared you to Kurt Cobain, and as you were not blonde, grungy, and suicidal, the odds of that happening were slim to none. After all, you weren't going to write Nevermind in a year.

You ignored the veiled insult, focusing instead on how you could see down her dress. Being compared to one of the great early punk bands gave you the sudden urge to rebel against convention and not give a damn about what other people thought. You wanted to do what felt good. Screw everyone else. So you grabbed Jude by the waist, slamming your lips against hers. You attacked her lips with a ferocity and passion that no one you could think of would ever approve of. Her lips were so soft and yielding. You let your hands slip down to her ass the way that punk kid had tried to on set, and you kept them there before you lifted her up, pressing her into the wall. Jude pressed her arms against the wall, moaning as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Your lips trailed down her neck, and you wanted her so badly that you started to head for the bedroom.

Luckily, however, you ran into the wall, which thwarted your whole seduction process and gave you some well-needed clarity. What the hell were you doing? Trying to repeat last night? The very thing you didn't want to do? You regretted last night more than anything, or at least that was what you told yourself and... Damn it! You were supposed to be the strong one about this. Jude certainly couldn't be. She was blinded by her love for you and only saw you in a positive light. She didn't understand how horribly any tryst with you would end. And right now, you were not acting very strong at all.

You helped her off the floor, as she had fallen when you stumbled. Strangely enough, she didn't seem mad at you. She got to her feet, trying to catch her breath and fanning herself. You felt somewhat embarrassed at your clumsy attempt at seduction. Smooth, you thought darkly. Jude dusted herself off, straightening her dress as casually as she could in an attempt to regain some of her dignity. She was trying to cool down, but the memories were still so fresh in your mind that they kept surfacing. Jude took a deep breath, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, here's a question for you, then. If you could, would you have sex with me again?" Jude asked bluntly, snorting at you. It was clear that she already thought she knew the answer. This was not wholly unreasonable, given what you'd just tried to do.

Truthfully, if it wouldn't get you in jail, you'd do it whenever you wanted. But it _would_ get you in jail, so it was useless to speculate. It was stupid to even think of it. The answer was yes, of course it was, but just because you _could_ do something didn't mean you should. If you could, you would, but you can't. It doesn't matter. You glared at Jude, feeling that old ire blazing up again in your veins. "Jude, that's a stupid question!" You shouted angrily, realizing how stupid you were being. Yelling at Jude wasn't going to help you. You were mad at yourself, not her, and it was wrong to make her think this was his fault. You slowly started to calm down, wanting to reassure her. "And, Jude, even if..." You began, not knowing how you would finish the sentence. It was here that you faltered. "Even if I said yes, having sex with you isn't worth going to jail."

And there it was. Congratulations, Quincy, you said it. It isn't worth it, so you made her feel like she wasn't worth it. Stellar job, you congratulated yourself sarcastically. How much must she hate you now? If it was any tenth as much as you hated yourself, then you were definitely in hot water. You were beyond that. Jude's lips turned up in a bitter smile. She nodded her head, a sour look on her face. "Wow. Never knew you felt that way, Tom," She retorted sarcastically. Then Jude placed a finger on her lip thoughtfully. "Oh, wait... It's a little late for that, don'tcha think?" She sneered scornfully, pointing out just how much of a hypocrite you were. "Nice to see where I rank on your values," She muttered irritably, crossing her hands over her chest and beginning to walk away from you.

That had been what you wanted, hadn't it? To have her furious with you, a reaction you were used to? Funny how it didn't feel so good anymore. You walked after her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face you. You shook your head, frustrated with all the things she didn't understand. Maybe she didn't get you as much as you'd thought. Then again, she was just a girl, and it was wrong to expect so much from her. You clenched your fingers into fists. "Jude, it's not like that!" You ejaculated, livid and wrathful. Jude nearly jumped, and you felt guilty. You were being too harsh with her. You exhaled, drawing in a relaxed breath. "Damn it..." You muttered softly, under your breath, leaning against the wall. Next thing you knew, you were telling her things you knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help yourself. "If I went to jail, I wouldn't get to see you for years. I can't handle that, and neither can you," You explained in a voice much lower and raspier than you intended. You wanted to touch her face, to splay your fingers on her chin and jawline.

She wasn't standing close enough to permit that, however, nor was she in a good enough mood to allow you to do such a thing. Right now, you were clearly persona non grata to Jude. She was starting to get sick of you, and you not loving her. Jude took a couple charged steps towards you. The vicious look in her eyes almost blew you away. Her eyes were a steely, threatening, accusing gray-blue. "_My_, Quincy, you sure do presume a lot about a girl," She hissed menacingly, stepping up to you, running her finger along your jawline coldly. A moment later, precisely when you weren't expecting it, she shoved you backwards. "Well, here's a newsflash for you: My life does not revolve around _you_... or any other man, for that matter!" She yelled virulently, narrowing her frosty blue eyes at you. She was hurt and just lashing out at you. And she'd misunderstood you again. You expected too much of her.

A lot of it was a show. As much as Jude wanted to be, she wasn't so fiercely independent. She depended on you a lot more than she wanted to admit. Not that you could tell by the possessed, seething form before you. "I will not just fall apart if you leave me," She vowed vehemently, giving you an out if you'd take it. Only you didn't want to leave her. You couldn't leave her, only to show her that all men would leave in the end. At that moment, however, she seemed as if she could take on anything, easily deal with the world... and come out on top. "I'm stronger than that." For her next statement, she made sure to look you straight in the eyes to show that she meant business. She was utterly serious and completely sober. She leaned in a little closer, stormy blue eyes flashing as she suddenly grabbed you by the collar. Her face was only inches from yours, but her thoughts were not of an amorous nature. "You might be the love of my life, Tommy, but my _world_ doesn't end if you're not in it," Jude declared dauntlessly, bold and cocksure.

Independent spirit sparked dangerously in her eyes like lightning. For a split second, it looked like she was going to punch you, but she refrained. You knew she meant it, and even you weren't cocky enough to believe that it wasn't true. You hadn't meant that at all with your remark, and you wished she could see that. So, of course, you felt the need to explain. Jude removed her hands from your shirt, and you backed away. Next thing you knew, you were explaining it. After all, you were the love of her life, as she herself had just said, so she deserved to know what you really meant. "Well, Jude... Did you ever think that maybe mine will?" You questioned in a soft voice, looking at her through sorrowful eyes.

Jude's jaw dropped in shock. A moment later, she closed her jaw and shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't believe what you said was true. You understood that, too. You were a liar by nature, and you always had been. You'd grown up lying because lies made everything easier. Everyone was happier and better off not knowing the truth. Ignorance really was bliss. You weren't lying here, though. Jude gave your life meaning, as ridiculous as that sounded. You didn't think you could just resume your old life, going about all carefree, knowing that you'd hurt her this much. You didn't know how to live like that anymore. It was truly amazing how quickly your life had changed after meeting her, how quickly you'd started to develop feelings for her. Jude shook her head again, tears shining in her eyes. She refused to let them fall, but the watery sheen glistened. "Tommy... don't say things like that. Don't act like you have feelings for me," Jude reprimanded half-heartedly, glancing down so you wouldn't see her frantically trying to fight the tears.

It was a losing battle, too. You grabbed her hands gently, taking a step closer to her. You tilted her chin up, making her look at you. You looked her deep in the eyes, trying to let her know how sincere you were. You knew that she had absolutely no reason to believe you... No reason other than the fact that you meant every word with your whole heart. Even though you'd made it as clear and free of complication as you could, she still didn't seem to understand how you truly felt about her. Just because you didn't love her didn't mean that you had no feelings for her whatsoever. You cared about her a lot, and you had strong, romantic feelings for her that were as close to love as a guy like you could ever hope for. "I'm not acting, Jude," You murmured truthfully, holding her gaze and her grasp until she looked down and broke free.

She turned away from you, and when she turned back around, all vestiges of sadness or uncertainty were gone from her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed in rage. Jude was surely no shrinking violet; that much was certain. She was a rose instead, one of a hue that resembled fresh blood. Like a rose, she was thin... But most importantly, she had thorns. You'd just pricked yourself on one. Just like a rose had thorns to protect itself from animals who would eat it or yank it out by its roots, Jude had these thorns in place to lessen the pain, to make you instead hurt as she did. And as a rose wilted, rotted, withered away, and died slowly as soon as you plucked it out of the warm, safe earth, no matter how much water you placed it in... So did Jude. She was a fresh-picked flower, and although she had at first bloomed, now she languished and appeared to wilt slowly before your eyes.

Her eyes were dead, devoid of emotion. She bared her thorns at you, wishing they were filled with poison... but she didn't have it in her. She just narrowed her eyes, an impossible, stubborn blue not found in nature. "And _I'm_ not believing you, Tommy. You've never given me any reason to believe a single word you say," Jude snarled bitterly, hating you for all your lies. She hated you even worse for dressing them up in pretty clothing. A lie was a lie without the flattery. You sighed because she was right, and you were not too proud to admit to it. So you remained silent, and for a long time, you said nothing. There was nothing you could think of to possibly say.

Eventually, however, the strange, awkward silence started to get to you. You suddenly remembered something. You had to make her promise. While she wasn't going to like this, you needed to hear it from her own lips in order to get some peace of mind. Hearing her say it was security, safety. Once you had her word, you knew she wouldn't break it. After all, you could get in very big trouble for this, and while you resented making her lie for you... It was necessary, and thus... just. Or at least that's how you justified it, if only so you could live with yourself. You couldn't repeat last night, making her swear it didn't happen... But you could sure as hell _act_ like it didn't, no matter how hard that was. "Jude... You can't ever tell anyone about this," You stated urgently. It was more of a plea than an order, but Jude thought otherwise.

She rolled her eyes at you, looking rather unaffected. It was as if she'd expected you to say that. Maybe she did know you after all... or maybe you were just ridiculously predictable. You didn't have any time to ponder this over, however, as you were quickly entangled in an awkward conversation with Miss Harrison. She smirked at you darkly. "Of course not, Tommy dearest," She retorted sarcastically, subtly hinting a resemblance to Mommy Dearest. She pulled a lipstick and compact out of her bag mid-phrase, quickly removing the top to the lipstick. She opened the compact, twisting the tube of lipstick until it actually came out. It was a dark crimson shade. Jude dragged it slowly across her lips, rubbing them together all the while staring in the mirror. "Wouldn't want you to go to _jail_ or anything," She remarked obliquely, shooting you a dark look.

Jail. You nearly shuddered at the thought. You were sick of her being sarcastic. This was important to you, just like she was important to you. You bit your lip to avoid making a furious remark. You didn't have a choice here. The only reason you were even asking was to save your own skin. You had to do this, period. What did you have to do to get her to be quiet about this? Did you have to get down on your hands and knees and beg? Did you have to kiss her feet and offer her jewels and expensive clothes and bribes? What could you do to get her to swear her allegiance? Whatever it was... if she named it, you would do it in a heartbeat. No matter what it was. "That's not fair, Jude! I don't **have** a choice, okay?! I can't... I can't choose you. Even if I..." You exclaimed, beginning loudly, but slowly losing it mid-sentence. You simply couldn't think of anything else to say that hadn't already been said.

Jude raised an eyebrow at you, violently tossing the lipstick and compact (both of which were closed) into her purse. She frowned at you, hating you for trailing off at an interesting point. She pursed her lips, waiting for a moment for you to speak. "Even if you... **what**? Even if you... _could_? Even if you... _wanted_ to? Huh, Tommy, which is it? Fill me in," She screamed mockingly, raising her arms, flinging them around. You felt mildly offended, as you'd meant the words to be more serious. Her she was, assuming she knew the end to your sentences. She didn't. Even you hadn't known what you were going to say.

You looked at her, desperation etched on your face. Panic was in your eyes. You were only about a step away from getting down on your knees for the third time that morning and pleading, praying, and kissing her feet. You'd give anything for her to agree with you. "Jude... Please... Promise me this. Promise me that you won't ever tell anyone about this... this..." You begged, clasping your two hands together. You should never have thrown yourself on her mercy. Jude wanted you to suffer as she had, and she had suffered far too much at your hands. She had cried and bled so much and so deeply at your hands that she was dying and when she finally expired, her blood would literally be on your hands. This... This was all your fault. You were so ashamed of it that you couldn't finish your sentences asking for the selfish assurance that you wouldn't get what you deserved. You shouldn't even be asking her for this. You should 'fess up and pay the piper.

But you can't do that either, because you'd be away from Jude. Which was the one thing in the world you wanted less than to be found out for the fraud and sex criminal you were. You were a deviant. Your obsession with Jude, still a minor and still a girl, was wholly unhealthy and wrong. You were not a teenager anymore, and that didn't give you the right to go around acting like one... cocky as hell, thinking you knew everything, owning the world, not giving a damn about anybody but yourself... Thinking foolishly that you could buy the world, that everything had a price. Your actions had consequences that affected people beyond you- people like Jude who were more important than a street rat like you could ever be. God, you didn't even know if you'd had **protected** sex, which was completely unlike you. You were _always_ safe. You had to be. When had been the last time you forgot? Oh, yeah. NEVER. It wasn't that _you_ needed it since she was a virgin, but she did. What if you'd given her some unknown STD accidentally? Or worse yet (was it really?), what if you got her pregnant? What would happen then?

You let the cool terror run over you as Jude started to speak. Your heart was beating so fast as the panic sped through your veins, shocking your senses worse than an electric current. "One-night stand? That _is_ the word you're looking for, isn't it, Tommy?" Jude taunted mercilessly, noting how you paled. She didn't get it, though. It wasn't your typical one-night stand. If it had been, you would've woken her up right after you did and physically kicked her out of the bed. You almost made her breakfast! But Jude just got you. She most certainly didn't know you that well- other than in a biblical sense, of course. You'd just jumped straight into bed with the girl on the first opportunity you could get. Only it wasn't the first opportunity you'd ever been presented with, not with this girl. You'd been alone in your car for long expanses of time with Jude. You had even been alone with her on the farm for a significant amount of time. But this time it had truly been viable. There was no one to interrupt, no place either of you had to be but... here. "This really means nothing to you, doesn't it? I'm just another one-night stand to you, and you expect me to be okay with this. You expect me to lie to save your **sorry** ass," Jude demanded disbelievingly, fury rising back up in her again.

You had to act like it meant nothing to you. You had to act cool and nonchalant, not that you'd been doing a proper job of that so far, what with the mushy speeches and the stuttering and the comforting. Although Jude knew you as a nice guy, you weren't one. You'd toned it down specifically for her because she was so young. You didn't hit on her for that precise reason, not that you weren't adverse to hitting on your female artists. In fact, you frequently flirted with them like a madman, even Jude... Having a young, attractive producer who knew all the right lines and said all the right things was great inspiration for a love song, after all. And you couldn't help it if your clients loved you and regularly wrote songs about you. You secretly loved hearing a song on the radio, knowing it was written about you. It was so... flattering.

However charismatic and flirtatious you may be, you were very good at your job. You were really a consummate professional, despite appearances. You just hadn't crossed the line with any of your charges... not that they hadn't wanted it. You were Tom Quincy, so of course they wanted it. Really, who _didn't_? But you were no René Angélil (despite how you were acting), and you thought that it was a dirty pool. She wasn't just another one-night stand, and you didn't expect her to be okay. You didn't expect yourself to be okay. But yes, fundamentally, when you got down to it, you did expect her to lie to save your sorry ass. You wanted her to do it, and you needed her to do it, but you didn't have to like it. You shook your head, frazzled and barely able to string two words together. "Jude... I'm... This is an impossible position... and I..." You stammered, racking your brain to think of something decent to say.

Predictably, you came up empty. Words always failed you in your time of need, but you supposed that not all times were suited to words. Words couldn't fix everything, after all... They were only words, not magic... even from your lips. Jude looked irritated and bitter and suddenly so old. You had made her this way, jaded. "_No_, Tom," Jude insisted brashly, interrupting your nonsensical speech once again. She nodded curtly, clamping her hand down hard upon your shoulder. "I get it, and I'll even keep our dirty little secret," I announced loudly, holding out her hand for you to shake to make the promise good. You had gotten what you wanted from her... in more than one way, and she'd just agreed to be discrete about it, to keep a secret that was partly hers. So, if everything was going exactly as you had wanted, then why did you feel so miserable? You were so guilty it almost killed you.

Finally, you had almost grabbed her hand to shake on the promise when she craftily jerked her hand away. She stared at you, tossing her hair with pride. Her features were a perfect depiction of anger. "Because I **love** you, as twisted and as stupid as that is! You're _lucky_ I love you!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her voice was raspy and too shrill; it hurt your ears. You didn't need her to tell you that again. It felt like a vice around your heart, the guilt did, slowly crushing the life out of you. You didn't need that dull, throbbing pain, or the endless wishing that you felt the same... if only so you could alleviate some of her hurt, her turmoil, her despondency. You said nothing, though, knowing you deserved this verbal upbraiding. It would be a sick sort of catharsis, but if it would help her, you were all for it. You were lucky, though, that she loved you.

Many women had loved you in the past... but never for who you really were. Never for Tommy, always for the teen idol, that poster up on their wall. They thought of you as a flawless god, and once they found out who you really were, they didn't love you anymore. Not that you had ever loved them. In fact, you usually beat them to the punch by dumping them first. You never let anyone get too close; you were intrinsically mistrustful of mankind in general. But they say the love of a good woman changes a man, and... While you had continuously debated for months on whether or not Jude was actually a woman, but she was good, much better than you were. She was too good for you in any world, especially this one. Shay had called you Saint Tommy, and while you were sanctimonious, Jude was the true saint. She sure had the patience of one for putting up with you two. And... You couldn't deny that she'd changed you in the short time you'd known her. She not only made you want to be a better guy; she actually made you a better guy just for knowing her. Of course, Jude had no idea about any of this, not quite comprehending the pull and influence she had on you or the fierce affection you had for her.

You knew that wasn't love, but it sure felt a lot like it... or so you imagined, because you don't really know, of course. Jude shook her head, pursing her lips and leaning against the wall. She laughed hollowly, a thin smile faked unto her lips. "It would be so easy... _so_ easy. You have no idea how easy it would be for me to tell someone. Like my dad or my mom. And I could tell them you took advantage of me and flash big, tearful eyes and say that you got me drunk," Jude remarked in a cool, calculated tone. She almost seemed bored and apathetic, but her eyes lit up when she thought about how easy it would be. You began to worry anew with all her talk of telling people, especially her parents. You'd come so close to getting her to promise, and now she was going to shoot all that to hell like she hadn't an ounce of love for you in her heart.

But she was wrong. You did know how easy it would be. Just like it would've been easier to walk away after you rose and pretend all of this never happened. Up until recently, you had been okay with settling for this life that was merely pretty on the outside, and empty on the inside. You had been a fan of going down the road less traveled by... You knew every good intention that paved the road to Hell because you'd been there and back... somehow alive and in one piece. You were certainly no stranger to the path of least resistance. Hell, you'd practically worn the trail down yourself. As of late, however, you had been doing things the hard way, knowing you couldn't have what you wanted... not like this, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but _especially_ the wrong time. You were not a patient man, but you had waited, even if it was only for four long months.

Jude pursed her scarlet lips speculatively, running a finger absentmindedly along the length of her bottom lip. She looked so... Different. She definitely wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman, thanks to you, her much older producer, and there was no denying it. You felt a small sense of pride at the accomplishment was were able to manage a small smirk. Jude's eyes were dark and vengeful as she thought aloud. "I could tell them that you took me back to your place, plied me with wine, got me drunk, took advantage of me in my vulnerable state, and that you..." Jude suggested in a low, husky voice. She peered at you through dark, heavily-lashed half-lidded eyes. A moment later, she slid her hand up and underneath your shirt easily, feeling your chiseled stomach hungrily, as if she wanted to memorize the feeling of you for the series of lonely nights in her future. Then abruptly, her eyes cleared, and she was no longer dazed. She quickly removed her hands from your bare skin and your shirt, pulling back a little.

Her bright blue eyes started to tear up, and she feebly attempted to blink the tears away. She spoke with a shaky, hesitant voice. It sounded uncharacteristically weak of Jude. She was many things, but weak was not one of them. "That I said no, that I didn't want _you_... And you went ahead anyways," She cried through forced tears, which she wiped away in a second. They stopped almost immediately. Your jaw dropped as you realized just how well she could act- and how easily she could make it sound like you'd raped her. You couldn't particularly remember it, either, so you couldn't deny it. In your own eyes, if you hadn't, since you'd gotten her drunk, you had gone as good as the same thing. She wasn't qualified to consent since she was drunk, and authority figures weren't supposed to try and have sex with her. You couldn't believe she'd be that awful and that vindictive to you, but then again, it could've been the truth. You had no memories to back you up.

Jude's face hardened almost immediately, and the ghost of a smile traced her lips. She shrugged frostily, acting deceptively calm. You were freaking out, and your heart beat painfully in your chest, slamming against your ribs. "Either way, it's so easy to lie," She said tranquilly, smoothing her dress serenely. Her eyes narrowed then as she took a defensive stance. It was all right. You had nothing to say to defend yourself. You deserved it, after all, whatever punishment she had in mind for your heartbreaking antics. "It'd almost be easier to nail you to the wall, but..." She mused briefly before suddenly trailing off, a very human emotion flashing in her eyes. She took a deep breath, looking vaguely apologetic. "I can't do that. I'd feel guilty," She mumbled honestly, looking down at her feet. You suddenly felt better knowing that she wasn't going to rat out your sin to the world, parents first, Georgia second, and tabloids third. You didn't think you needed that handshake anymore. Just knowing and feeling the relief was good enough for you now.

You felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, so great was your liberation. Somewhere along the lines Jude had morphed back into that sad girl with a guitar again. Only her guitar was nowhere in sight, and she was no longer a girl- she was a woman. And, like you'd thought before... that was solely your doing, no one else's. Her eyes were melancholic, her lips were frowning, and she was clearly fighting tears. "And in some ways, it's worse this way, because... You have to face me every damn day, knowing what you did. That way you'll have some modicum of how I feel. It'll hurt me to see you every day, but not as much as it'll hurt you..." She said quietly, voice shaking only slightly. The tears fell down her cheeks slowly. She was oddly wise, as if she had the future written in her eyes. She spoke her next words like a gypsy over her crystal ball, cursing on you and your house because you shortchanged her. "And that guilt's the worst of all because it will never, ever leave you," Jude predicted in a foreboding tone. Her eyes were made all the more blue by sorrow, or perhaps just her reddened eyes.

A mysterious, wicked smile appeared on Jude's lips, unbidden. She came closer, eyes thin slits. "Even when I'm overage... you'll remember your little part in my corruption," She promised poisonously, pointing a finger at you as if casting a spell on you. It sounded suspiciously like a curse. Then the strange, ethereal glow disappeared from her eyes, which once again became a desolate periwinkle. "Neither of us is _ever_ going to forget, Tommy," She whimpered disconsolately, as a means of saying goodbye. You also recognized the promise in that statement, which scared you more than that faux enchantment ever could. What scared you was the fact that she was right, and you were so worried that this decision, this huge mistake you'd made with Jude would haunt you for the rest of your life. The mistake was not that you slept with her, which was a mistake too, but really more of a happy accident. The mistake was doing this, making her promise, making her lie, making her deny it all. That was wrong; that was the real mistake. Why couldn't you see that before.

Jude wiggled her fingers weakly, as a pathetic goodbye wave. She was trembling silently, shaking with the force of the silent tears that were falling down her smooth cheekbones. However, as miserable as the sight of Jude crying like that was, she still had her dignity. She had enough pride to hold her head up high and to fix her eyes on you, her fleeing Polaris, who had shifted position last night and was no longer her North Star... far from being any sort of compass, moral or not. She refused to sob, to even open her mouth. She didn't want to be any more weak and vulnerable than she had been already. It had gotten her nowhere and even less with you. This goodbye wasn't right.

It shouldn't be a cold, feeble wave. She shouldn't be crying so hard and trying to restrain it without even a whimper. It should be an embrace or a kiss or something. Something, anything, anything more than this barren farewell! But no, no kisses whatsoever! You'd only get carried away then, and _everyone_ knows what would happen then, what terrible misdeeds you would commit shortly afterward. Still, you felt you needed to do something, something better than a wave. So you wrapped your arms around her, taking her into your arms, and wiping away her tears. You allowed yourself the luxury of one last, lingering embrace.

The embrace seemed to go on for a lifetime, to last an eternity. It was strange, but that simple touch made you feel so much better. Finally, you were forced to pull away. _Kiss me goodbye, Judas._ And, like the Biblical tale, it was an act of betrayal. You betrayed your own heart just as much as you betrayed and abandoned Jude. You were like pious Peter after he'd denied his friendship the third time, fallen from grace and not above the others anymore, not the most loyal friend. You never had been above the others. Just like Judas, you'd betrayed your best friend with a kiss... and so much more. The guilt was still piercing, but it had dulled with every moment you spent in her embrace. Now it was slowly surging back like a viper's venom, hitting you in waves of pain. Jude had stopped crying, if only momentarily. She smiled weakly at you, trying to let you know that there was some hope left for her to be happy. You tried to smile back, but it didn't reach your eyes. You couldn't make this better... You couldn't make yourself love her when you didn't. You finally accepted that, simply because you had no other choice.

You turned your back on her, leaving her there in your room, utterly forsaken. You reached the door in a few moments, and just before you closed it, you heard her start to sob. "Goodbye, girl," You whispered softly, under your breath. You didn't look back, even though you wanted to, and the guilt was plaguing you. You had to look to the future, when you could do this for real... if Jude ever gave you a second shot. Not that you deserved one. You'd taken advantage of her, abused her trust, gotten her drunk, deflowered her, kept her up and out all night, and broken her heart twice in as many days... and you didn't even have the nerve to remember the best part, the part that had gotten you in this situation in the first place! You were a terrible excuse for a man. Maybe she wasn't the child here. She wasn't your girl... maybe you were her boy. She might be the teenager, but you were the one who acted like it and knew better.

You thought of her sobbing and wondered when and if you'd ever see her again. You wouldn't blame her if she requested a new producer. But you wanted to be in her life so badly, damn it, that you'd do anything to stay in it! Anything. You felt wrong and sick about this, though... And even though you'd just showered, you felt dirtier than you did before, reeking of sex. You'd committed a cardinal sin here, and you were no helpless victim of lust, but a willing participant. The punishment deserved to be all on you, yet Jude was the one walking around in your hotel with a broken heart. It just didn't seem fair that she should suffer for your indiscretion. You'd done wrong by this girl. And, as you shut the door behind you, turning your back on her once and for all, you couldn't help but feel that you'd made a huge mistake here. One you would wind up paying for for the rest of your life.

Loren ;

Please review for this. Really, please... Don't you think I deserve it? I mean, I realize that this chapter is horribly depressing and repetitive and it seems to drag on and on at times... But it's the size of a Consequences chapter, and you all review for those. Ahem, sorry, I sound rather pathetic there, and begging/whining. I apologize. This chapter has just given me a really hard time, as has my computer. And I had to keep breaking to hold in the powercord. And I only missed my deadline by one day! Gimme some credit here, people. ;)

Oh, and before I forget, as you hopefully have noticed, last chapter was called "Happy Birthday". Every chapter in this story is named after a song. So, if you guess the name of the artist/band who sing(s)/wrote the song and the album on which it was on, you get spoilers! Yay! It's rather obscure, but I think you can guess it, especially if you've read this chapter well enough.

Anyways, thanks to any of you that review, and thanks to any of you that just read it. Though the thanks are understandably more grateful to the reviewers. I don't blame the lurkers, though. Anyways, thanks so much for all your wonderful support! And I had a great birthday, to anyone who wondered! ;)


	3. They Weren't There

First, I would like to thank all of the wonderful reviewers. I really love you guys, and I do appreciate each and every review, whether they be positive or negative. And I especially would like to thank my crazy friends, Six and Belle, for promoting this story like crazy. To Six, especially, for repeatedly telling me this story's her inspiration. ;)

Now, first I would like to say that I had a very hard time with this chapter. It's in first-person and Jude... so Tommy is completely removed from the picture (okay, as removed as is possible... emotionally). And so this chapter is very different from the last two. I'm honestly not quite sure if I can top that last chapter, but at least I tried. This chapter took forever, really, it did. Which is kind of sad, since I write exactly like this for Consequences. Minus all the jokes and plus a lot of heartbreak. But eventually I finished it, thanks to a (un)healthy dose of nights spent writing and countless tales of forbidden love. Seriously, I watched this Jane Eyre miniseries (LOVE that book too, by the way), and that was genius. Totally inspired me. ;)

I'm sure everyone will be happy to know that in this chapter, Jude details exactly what happened the night before. Thus, how she winds up having sex with Tommy. I don't think it's detailed enough to merit an M rating, but I guess we'll see. The next chapter will be in Tommy's point-of-view again. Let's just say Jude surprises him with a visit, looking pretty hot. Oh, and Shay's still in town, for some stupid reason. Be prepared for a showdown. But between who?

I do not own Instant Star, although I would love to. I mean, if I did, do you think I'd be writing an AU first season piece? Heck no. I'd be busy worrying about the third season and what people are gonna think about it.

I'm hoping that you'll find this chapter less depressing, mopey, all-around tragic, and repetitive. It's harder for me to write Jude in first-person with the depth I wrote Tommy in second-person. Anyways, I pray that you enjoy it.

* * *

The instant Tommy left and that door shut behind him, feeling a hell of a lot like forever, I burst into uncontrollable tears. The door wasn't even locked, but I didn't care about that. I only knew one thing- I had to get to the bed before I fell. But I had fallen long before I ever got here, in Tommy's suite. I had fallen head-over-heels at that beautiful pier almost four months ago, and that was still completely unfathomable to me. So I stumbled through the hallway and almost killed myself maneuvering through his bedroom. I somehow managed to collapse on the bed, a mess of limbs and green silk. That's what I was: a broken, sick, dirty mess. I molded my body to sink into the mattress, curling up into a tiny ball and letting out all of my pain. But no matter how much I cried, the hurt wouldn't go away. My pain could not be alleviated. Just like your heart can't be sewn back together if the knife's still in it.

There was still this overwhelming, wearying ache that seeped down all the way to my bones. I felt sick, and I was sick with grief. I jerked my head up just a little, so I could bury my face in his pillow. Pain exploded down my back, white-hot. All I wanted to do was remember the way he smelled. Hell, I wanted to remember every wonderful, horrible thing about him! I loved him, you know? I loved everything about him. I loved him, and just like Shay, he'd broken my heart. Twice in less than twenty-four hours, three times if you added Shay, but who's counting? Shay doesn't matter, though, not like I thought he did once upon a time. Not like Tommy does. No one matters like Tommy does. You could pick up another Shay on a street corner. He'd be a homeless crack addict with bad teeth, but at least he wouldn't be so particular. You couldn't pick Tommy off the street, though... He's one of a kind. Tommy just has that thing. It. That... je ne sais quoi. He's irreplaceable, and I'd be completely lost without him in my life.

Shay I can get over. Yeah, he was smooth while he lasted, and yes, he was charming and knew how to rhyme. And I did love him, I really, truly did... as much as I could. But even that's not one tenth of how much I love Tommy. Tommy's not so easy to get over. I think it could take me a whole lifetime just to forget the color of his eyes in the morning. Tommy just draws you in, weaves you into his web, and then he entangles himself in your life without you even noticing. He's my everything. My mentor, my best friend, my producer, my idol, my biggest fan, my partner in crime. He's it for me. So then, tell me... How is it fair that Tommy can just walk away from this? How can breaking my heart be the right thing to do? How can it be what's best for me, best for the both of us? No matter how many times he explains, I just... can't... get it. I don't understand it. And I know it's not just me. He can't pretend like I'm the only one who feels this way... not after last night.

All these terrible, painful thoughts were swirling around in my head. I was so confused and depressed... but mostly, I found that I was so tired. It was a dangerous kind of weariness too, the kind that just sinks into your soul and drags you down into the abyss. A part of me wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. But instead I sobbed brokenly there in _his_ bed in _his_ bedroom in _his_ suite, wrapped up in _his_ sheets. Because I wanted to remember _him_. He deserved to be remembered with reverence, and he shouldn't have to see me laying here all pathetically when he came back. So I didn't do anything drastic. I just lay there and sobbed my eyes out because I couldn't do anything else but mourn this... whatever it was... that I had never known. That night, as flawed and as wrong and as illegal and as heartbreaking and as awful as it was... was the best night of my life. And you know why? Because I was with Tommy. A lot of girls can say that, I'm sure, but if even for one moment... It was like we were one. And, in that one moment, he was mine, and I was his.

Laying in his bed where we'd slept didn't help, though. It didn't soothe like I thought it would. It only made the hurt that much more acute because I was so close, yet so far away... so removed from the whole thing. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience, and then I came back. The pain was so terrible that I couldn't even breathe. And I missed Tommy something fierce already, even though he was newly gone. I'd had him in my arms for that one night, and then he just slipped away under an ocean of excuses and a mountain of ice. It hurt more this time because I knew what I was missing, and I knew that Tommy felt the same as I did; no matter what he said. I knew that a part of Tommy was gone from me forever, or maybe for just two years... It was the part of Tommy that trusted himself around me, the little piece of his heart that I was allowed to see when he let his guard down. He was never going to do that again. And I missed **him**; I missed being close to him, and I missed _knowing_ him. So there I was, salt water trailing down my cheeks, face down in Tommy's pillow, breathing in his smell and wishing I could suffocate on it. Tommy was all around me, and I couldn't get rid of the memories, vivid as they were.

I wouldn't trade the memories for anything. Even if it killed me to remember every second of it, I wouldn't trade them for the world. I was wrapped up in that smell, and it was almost like Tommy was there with me. Except he wasn't. I was alone and cold and just wishing for things that would never happen. The sheets were cold, ice cold. The maid would be here soon to clean, and I knew that she wasn't supposed to find me here. The air was thick and heavy still, and oppressive, stifling... but it felt colder, and I couldn't stop shivering. I don't know if that was from the tears or the chill or the guilt (from what I'd just made Tommy do). The air smelt even like him. Tommy and sex. The two of them were practically synonymous to begin with, given the way Tommy is about town. And now that I'd been there... here... I couldn't think of one without the other. Tommy was sex to me now.

After all, I'd had sex with him too, hadn't I?

I knew what I was to him, no matter what he swore. I was just a one-night stand and a mistake. He wished he'd never been with me, and I can't say I blame him. I wish I did, but I can't. I love him, after all. I love him. No matter what he does to me, I'll always... love him. No matter how much it hurts... No matter how much I want to rip my heart out and bleed red, thick pain all over the world.

And, of course, since Tommy had made it more than abundantly clear that he didn't want me, and that he couldn't be with me... even if he wanted to. He didn't want to, of course, but then again, he did, didn't he? After all, he'd had sex with me, and I seriously doubt that was just because I was the only female in his suite. It'd be easy to think that it was all coincidental... that I'm just imagining all of this having a deeper meaning. That I made up this reality where Tommy and I slept together instead of facing the reality. Only that's not true, and unfortunately, this is real. A make-believe world wouldn't hurt so much. A make-believe world wouldn't be worse than the "real" world. It was worse now, so much worse since I'd had sex with Tommy. Everything was twisted and dark now, distorted in the light, surrounded by wispy shadows.

Everything was different. In one night of fun (at least, I hope that's what he thought!)... My life had changed forever. And, no, no, I'm not being melodramatic! It did. Tommy turned my whole damn life upside-down and topsy-turvy even more than that stupid contest did four months ago. Six months, actually. That's when I got word that they wanted me on the show. And to think, I survived two months of eliminations just to face this. Tommy's my undoing. A stupid, immature boybander, of all people, who could and would never love me. He didn't treat me right. He didn't treat me especially well... and he broke my heart on a frequent basis. Love is a funny, funny thing. But Tommy has me trapped in an Alicia Keys song, and I keep on falling in and out and in and out (so it was _just_ like last night, then?) of love. With him especially.

Love and hate relationships. They might look pretty on the outside, but they're hell to be in. And right now, I'm not in a relationship of any sort. Nope, Shay and Tommy both cleared that up for me. Shay cheated, and Tommy lied. But you can't brush everything under the rug, Tommy, and I sure as hell don't forget things like that. I could _never_ forget a kiss like that. Maybe we could try and forget about it if it was just that one kiss. But we've passed that point now, definitely far overstepping the boundary of friendship.

And suddenly, all those memories swept over me like a tsunami. I hadn't forgotten them in the slightest, not like Tommy had. Tommy had forgotten all about that night, and that hurt. There was no question in my mind that his lack of memory wasn't intentional- to make it easier for him. Tommy needs to know that you can't always take the easy way out. Life doesn't work like that. But those memories, they just came back to the very forefront of my mind, and they overcame me. They overwhelmed me, and it was like I was back there again. Like it was last night all over again, and I was back there, drowning in a sea of heartache and misery.

After Tommy rejected me and told me it didn't happen, I was lost. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. I was falling apart, and I hated the way that felt. I hated being that girl, the one who cried all the time over stupid men who would never love her. I didn't want to be that girl who was foolish enough to think they ever could feel the same, but I did, and I was. And for that, I hated myself. I hated that I'd made myself that girl. I hated that my happiness was so dependent on the nonexistent feelings of unreliable men. You never could trust musicians. They always break your heart in the end. It's the tours that do it. They find some other slut who'll give it up and they forget all about what's waiting for them back home. Or worse, they get all wrapped up in the lifestyle and the groupies... and they don't _care_ anymore.

So that's what I did. I got out, and I fled the scene of the crime that night. I tore down that stupid poster, hating how it mocked me, how it made my party out to be this happy thing. Happy birthday, my ass. And I let Tommy's jacket drop off my shoulders and slump to the ground, hating how it felt draped around my shoulders. It was as useless as a wet blanket, and that was how useless I felt. It didn't comfort me, and it only made me feel even colder. So I sashayed out of there, past the janitor, trying with every inch of that walk to show Tommy just what he was missing. I snatched up the trenchcoat I'd worn to the party, put it on, knotted it tight around my waist. The tightness, the pinch... It helped remind me that I was alive. It made me feel the pain, really feel it. My heartache was so much more... real. It hurt to breathe; I'd done it up that tight.

It didn't keep me warm in the slightest, defying its purpose. I figured it wasn't my night, after all. It also clung to my skin nearly as much as the dress, but I didn't care. It was thicker, and hell, modesty was overrated anyways. After all, if I'd been a worldly slut, Shay would've stayed with me, and Tommy wouldn't have said no. Only I don't know that for sure. Tommy tends to stick to his principles, and something as stupid as my age would be flashing to him in neon lights as that one thing he wouldn't do. If I was a slut, I wouldn't be me... And maybe neither of them would've liked me for that. They would've just used me or picked me for my body and the sex. So maybe he wouldn't have done it. And maybe, if I'd been a little easier, I'd still have Shay. But you know, now that I think about it, he wouldn't have been worth that sacrifice. Giving myself up to Shay would've been the biggest mistake of my life.

And I'm glad I didn't do that. At least Tommy cares. He cares too much, I think, sometimes, and that's wholly the problem, isn't it? I won't ever regret what I did with Tommy, even after what happened. Because I still have the memories, and he can't deny it, even if he doesn't remember. It happened, and it's as simple as that. Even Tommy, King of Liars, can't deny that. It happened.

I was about a block away from G. Major when I first saw Tommy's car. It gleamed in the moonlight like a bright blue flash. It looked like a dream. I sighed, remembering how good, how freeing it felt to drive it. How amazing the wind felt in my hair, even when the car jerked. I remembered how patient Tommy was with me, how calm he seemed. The way he put his hands over mine to guide my grip on the clutch to make the driving smoother. I remember the way my heart skipped a beat and how I just turned to look at him. I wound up even more distracted than before. I couldn't drive stick-shift worth a damn, but it was one of the best birthday presents I've ever gotten. Glancing over, I suddenly noticed that, for the first time since I'd known him, he'd put the roof up. I knew it was still raining, but it seemed so strange. I guess that's just it, though. Tommy had changed today, and so had I.

He slowed down as soon as he noticed me, but I pointedly ignored him. I knew he wanted to give me a ride, but I couldn't allow that. I couldn't be so near to him then, pretending it had never happened. I needed time away from him. I didn't even want to see him then. I needed time to adjust to the idea, to adapt to the change in our dynamic. But, more importantly, I needed time to grieve my failed relationship with Shay and the lost relationship with Tommy I'd never known I really wanted all along. I just kept on walking towards my house as if he wasn't even there, and it felt good. It felt like I was giving him a taste of his own medicine. I should've known Tommy wouldn't give up until he got wanted. He never did. He rolled down his window and proceeded to start talking. "Jude, come on, let me give you a ride home!" Tommy pleaded, sounding a bit desperate.

It had started to rain again, and I was very cold. Getting in the car was an appealing option, but I didn't want to get in... Not when Tommy was driving. I would have rather walked through snow than gotten in his car. I was becoming numb to the cold, and I was trying to numb myself from him. Despite everything, Tommy still had a powerful effect on me. It was hard to fight it and so hard not to fall in love with him all over again, but I had to be strong. I kept walking, wrapping my arms around myself, bracing myself against the raindrops. Tommy continued following me in his car at a snail's pace, not that it really mattered... The streets were practically empty at this time of night. "Jude, _please_... It's raining, and it's the middle of December. You're gonna freeze!" Tommy begged, raising his voice. I didn't even glance at him. Naturally, Tommy continued badgering me. "Jude... Don't be this way. What kind of guy would I be if I let you walk home late at night in this weather?" Tommy implored as his voice began to sound even more whiny.

That made me look at him. What kind of guy would **I** be? I hated that Tommy cared so much about what people thought about him. It wasn't even about him worrying about me. So I stopped dead in my tracks and turned my accusing stare on him. "Don't ask me what kind of guy you are. You answered that question yourself," I snapped venomously. I'm not That Guy, he'd said. You're asking the wrong guy, he'd said. That was exactly what kind of guy he was. That guy, the wrong guy. Tommy was the kind of guy I hated. He had no feelings. He was the kind of guy who kissed me and then took it back. He was the kind of guy who broke all his promises. He was the kind of guy who doesn't love anybody but himself and leaves you high and dry. _That's_ what kind of guy he was. I turned away angrily and resumed walking.

But for whatever reason, Tommy was determined to get me in that car, so he kept following me. It was beginning to grate on my nerves. God, he couldn't make it better, so why was he trying?! What was the point? Although the idea that I had him begging was rather gratifying, I didn't want to go there again. I was sick of the vicious cycle. No more, I vowed; I won't go back there and be that stupid, naïve girl all over again. I was not that same girl that kissed him at the Vinyl Palace.

I swore then and there that I wasn't falling for his act ever again. But I think I knew I would because it was eventual. I was going to slip back into the same bad habits. Tommy was the worst one, but I couldn't stop. I did try, though, God knows I did. There was just something so irresistible about him that kept me coming back. "Jude, please, get in the car. It's dark out. You're freezing, alone, and vulnerable. Now is not a good time to walk home," Tommy pointed out worriedly. "Someone could take advantage of you," Tommy continued. I snorted at that, shooting him a look. As if he was really one to talk. There he was, an adult in a position of trust and authority, and he'd just kissed me, a minor. Freaking hypocrite. I shook my head stubbornly, and Tommy actually leaned halfway out of his window. I raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing. Maybe he was serious. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Jude. Just... _please_... get in the car so I can know you're safe," Tommy entreated so sincerely that I knew I had to get in the car with him. As much as he'd hurt me, he was my friend, and he cared about me.

Plus, he presented several very good points. I was cold, wet, tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. Only I didn't want to go home. I just wanted to feel warm again. I certainly didn't want to keep walking in the dark all alone, just begging to get mugged or raped by a homeless man. So I sighed, hating that I was giving in to him, and I nodded meekly. You should've seen the way Tommy smiled. He lit up the whole street looking at me like that. He stopped then, right in the middle of the road, and I walked around the car on shaking legs. Tommy opened the door for me, and I nearly collapsed in the seat. I'd never realized how much my legs hurt. I had just kept walking because I knew I needed to get away from him. Tommy tried to fasten the seatbelt for me too, but that was too close for my comfort, so I shooed his hand away and did it myself.

I closed the door carefully because Tommy always yelled at me when I slammed it. I didn't even want to speak to him. I nearly jumped when Tommy locked the doors. I felt trapped like a rat in a maze, but I said nothing. Tommy even let me mess with the radio, but I kept hearing that stupid song. "Waste My Time", indeed. I slammed the button, turning it off violently, and Tommy didn't even flinch. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to care that I was dripping all over his prized leather seats. We were headed towards my house, but I suddenly didn't want to face it. I didn't want to see the pity on their faces or listen to Dad's feeble attempts to verbally castrate Shay. I didn't want to hear Mom's pep talk. I didn't want to have Sadie rub my nose in it. Only she was gone, so all attention would be focused on me. I suddenly placed my hand on Tommy's just as we entered my neighborhood.

Tommy immediately turned to me, surprise written all over his face. I shook my head frantically, trying not to cry. I'd done far too much of that lately. "I don't want to go home, Tommy. I _can't_," I said weakly, hoping that somehow he'd understand, or maybe that he would give in to the guilt. Tommy stopped in front of a mailbox and looked at me for one long second. It was like he was trying to see through me. Thankfully, though, Tommy got me. He always did. So Tommy backed into a driveway and carefully reversed and then... we were out. The streets were completely deserted. He could've taken me anywhere, but for what seemed like forever, he just drove.

"Where can I take you?" He asked in a whisper, shooting me a sideways glance. I shrugged; I hadn't thought this out. I knew it was just his guilt talking anyways. "Where do you want to go? I'll take you anywhere," Tommy continued to insist, gripping the wheel harder. I didn't want to go anywhere in particular. Just somewhere warm where I could go to sleep. I shrugged coolly once again and leaned tiredly against the seat. I just sighed, having no answer for him. I merely waved it off. Wherever he wanted to take me. I didn't care. I was just tired, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. "You can crash at my place, if you want," Tommy suggested reluctantly, casting nervous glances over at me. I don't think he wanted to take me home, to his place, I mean... but I didn't protest, and he couldn't take me home. I guess he was expecting a reaction, but I didn't give him one. I'm not sure I even blinked. I was half-asleep by the time we got there.

Tommy was a bit jumpy and clearly worried about what was going to happen. I guess he was worried about what would happen when we were alone at his place. He was right to worry. That night had shown that he couldn't quite control himself as well as he though. I should've been worried, too, but I didn't think anything would happen. I just figured that I wouldn't strip out of my clothing, and I'd sleep on the couch. It all seemed simple enough, but things are never simple with Tommy. He finally stopped in a fancy underground parking lot. My eyes were closed, and I was just drifting off into dreamland when he picked me up bridal-style, closing and locking both doors. I barely even moved other than to drape my arms around his neck.

I can't tell you what the inside of the hotel looked like that night, but Tommy went through a lot of strange entrances so he wouldn't risk running into people. Him holding me like that, carrying me to his room didn't exactly look right. I woke up around the time when Tommy set me against the wall for a second so he could fumble with his keycard. It wasn't working very well, so he kept trying. I opened my eyes and peered around the hallway. It's funny how I remember what it looked like. The carpet was thick and very lush, a scarlet color with gold crisscrossing over it. There were few doors in that hallway, even counting Tommy's... maybe three or four, one of which was stairs and another maintenance. The walls were a plain, boring shade of beige with random landscapes on the wall. The pictures had gold frames.

It was a small hallway, as hallways go. There was the traditional potted plant on the floor, a carefully maintained little tree in a fancy blue porcelain pot. There was also an elaborate wood end-table with inlaid pieces stained a very dark color. There was a beautiful arrangement of real tropical flowers in a glimmering crystal vase on top of the table. The exotic flowers were so fragrant that I could smell them in the air. And, at the end of the hallway, there was a long window that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling which gave a wonderful view of the city. It was covered then by a fancy red velvet curtain, tied closed with a golden rope. My eyes took in this world of color and richness, and I understood what Tommy's life must be like. It all looked nice on the outside, but when it came down to it, I couldn't picture living in that hotel.

Tommy finally opened the door and ushered me into his suite. I was startled, and I didn't quite remember how I'd gotten there at first, but I wasn't alarmed. After all, it was Tommy. I had no reason to be alarmed around him. Tommy slowly shut the door behind him as I just stood awkwardly in his foyer. It was a comfortable room, to be sure, designed very nicely, but there was something so empty about it all. There was a coat rack, an umbrella-holder, a rug, and a small end-table with a lamp on it. Other than that, the room was large and devoid of anything. It had a high, vaulted ceiling, and I felt so small and strange there in such a big room. It seemed like it would echo if I said anything, so I didn't talk. I just looked, wide-eyed and took in the sights of Tommy's abode.

I stood there on the rug, probably dripping wet. The floor was white marble and impressive. Tommy removed his own coat before slinging his soaked suit jacket on the coat rack. Then of course, he turned to me and motioned for my coat. I was too busy looking to care at first, but when Tommy advanced, I hastily undid the buttons and untied the belt. And it was strange, but I felt freer. I felt like I could breathe again. Still, I knew being there with Tommy was a mistake. My gut told me to get away, but I ignored it. Tommy smiled at me reassuringly, and I smiled weakly back. He stepped towards me, getting uncomfortably close and putting his hand on the small of my back, steering me through the door on the right. It immediately opened into a huge living room. I was surprised by the vastness of it.

There was a lot of furniture in the room... Things like a chaise lounge, a lounge chair, a few armchairs, a recliner off in the corner, various couches, and a coffee table in the middle of the room. Against the wall was a plasma screen TV, and I could just make out a DVD player lurking underneath. A safe distance under that display was a large, elegant fireplace made of black marble. The right half of that same wall mostly held a very, very, very complex and large sound system. The left side had rows of cabinets with see-through doors that mainly housed CDs, records, and DVDs. The back wall was largely composed of windows with a breathtaking view of the harbor and other areas. I was immediately drawn to the windows and spent time amusing myself with a personal tour. The CN Tower loomed like a giant, dominating the skyscape. I was afraid to press my finger against the glass, so I traced each landmark I could see. So Tommy lived in Yorkville, the fanciest, most expensive neighborhood in all of Toronto, on Bloor Street West, the most expensive street of the city. I should've known. If I squinted, I could even see G. Major off in the distance. I almost smiled at the sight of it.

But I didn't, of course, because I was still abjectly miserable and worse, in Tommy Heartbreaker's company. A good portion of the rest of the walls were bookshelves. I wondered if Tommy liked to read. It suddenly occurred to me that I knew next to nothing about the man. Then again, with what he'd done to my heart and the things people said about him, maybe I didn't want to know. I shivered at the thought and because I was so close to the window. My dress was still damp from the rain. I wrapped my arms around my waist anxiously, biting my lip and glancing out the window. I didn't know what to expect, but I was nervous. When I turned around, Tommy had lit a fire, anticipating that I would be cold. I managed a grateful smile and walked reluctantly towards Tommy and the fireplace. "Make yourself at home," Tommy said encouragingly, gesturing around the room. I smiled nervously. He was trying too hard to make me comfortable. There was clearly nothing comfortable about this situation.

Tommy then turned around and with an uncharacteristic messiness, kicked off his shoes. Tommy was such a neat, meticulous person. In the studio and out- I'd seen his desk. I picked out a couch, a nice, comfortable red one that didn't look as nice as the others. It felt weird sitting on stiff, expensive furniture and I was wet. I didn't want to ruin anything. Looking around the room, I felt completely lost. I didn't fit in with anything here. Not the décor and... I just didn't fit in Tommy's life. Queen West and Yorkville- That was his world, and mine's back in the suburbs. I was kidding myself to think anything else. We were two very different people. I sighed, sitting on the edge of the couch with a daintiness that wasn't fitting to me. I let the heels slide off my feet lazily and glanced over just in time to watch Tommy flinch as they crashed against the floor. I smiled at that, feeling strange and sick having enjoyed Tommy's discomfort.

I got a bit more comfortable on the couch, no longer caring about decency or whether Tommy could see up my dress. I uncrossed my legs, pulling them up to rest on the couch, and I lounged there. Besides, I thought bitterly, it didn't matter anyways. It's not like Tommy would actually **do** anything. My eyes narrowed at the thought, and I resented him so badly for it. For not trying anything. He'd already made that move and gotten in too deep. He started it, and then he just stopped... just like that. I can't turn my emotions off like a faucet, so I didn't understand. I should've seen it coming from a mile away. I suppose a frown must've crossed my face while I was thinking all of these vicious, hateful thoughts, for then Tommy came over, bearing a blanket. I didn't even see him coming until he'd covered me with it, and it was such a nice gesture that I felt bad for thinking all those mean things about him. Not that he didn't deserve each and every one.

I shifted, leaning back further into the pillow, feeling uncomfortably like a small child who was being tucked in. That was how Tommy saw me, after all. Tommy looked down at me for a moment and then smiled softly. He reached out a hand as if to... touch me or something, but then he pulled it back. "Do you want anything?" He asked kindly, still trying to pacify me. He was still walking on eggshells around me; he'd just gotten better at avoiding it. He gestured towards the door. "I'm going to go get a drink, so if you want anything... Now would be a good time," He continued, trying to explain. I shook my head without saying a word, pulling the blanket even closer. I snuggled into the warmth of the couch and was just beginning to think this situation might not be so bad after all when Tommy came in a few moments later.

I immediately opened my eyes at the sound of his footsteps. I would've known when he came in, even if I hadn't heard him. Every cell in my body was conscious of him, all too aware of his every move. He had a bottle and a wine glass in hand, I noticed with widened eyes. He wasn't kidding when he said he was going to go get a drink. Tommy seemed visibly more relaxed as he sat down and uncorked the bottle. He poured himself a glass. I watched, fascinated, as the burgundy-colored liquid flowed out of the greenish bottle and into the glass. It was a dark, dark crimson, and in a way, it looked almost like blood. Tommy immediately brought the glass to his lips and sipped contentedly. He sighed and leaned back comfortably in his chair, downing the glass effortlessly, sip after sip, gulp after gulp. He looked calm, relieved even. I envied him for that easy happiness. He seemed so carefree there, basking in the warmth of the fire, swilling red wine.

Tommy never noticed I was watching until I made it known to him. Or maybe he did, maybe he felt my eyes burning into him and never said a word because he liked that I was staring at him. Either way, after he had two glasses, I cleared my throat and sat up a little. Tommy glanced over at me, smiling easily, looking far more comfortable with the current situation. He was halfway through his third glass by that point, and something seemed off about that smile of his. There was something utterly wrong about the way he was staring right back at me without any shame. "Would you like a glass? It might calm your nerves," A very mellow Tommy suggested, polishing off his glass and brandishing the empty glass.

I gaped at what he was suggesting. Tommy wanted me to get drunk? I looked at him through new eyes, seeing a very different side of him. Admittedly, Tommy wasn't the most professional guy out there, but this was wrong. However, I got to thinking that maybe Tommy was right. I wanted to numb my senses, to numb the pain just a little. He looked so awfully at peace with his drunkenness. Forgetting sounded awfully enticing. It wasn't just that. I was so tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Yet every time I'd closed my eyes, I couldn't sleep. Tommy was always watching. Maybe it would help. So I nodded, and even Tommy looked a little surprised, but he poured me a glass nonetheless. He handed it to me, and I took the first sip. Tommy had drunk from the same glass, and something as meaningless as sharing a glass with him felt so... intimate. It tasted a lot better than I thought, but I only had two glasses.

Unlike Tommy, who downed two more after I was done. I don't know if he was drunk or not, but given his image and the fact he was no stranger to bars... I didn't think he was drunk. He was probably barely buzzed. As for me, I was a bit more relaxed, that was true, but I wasn't drunk enough to do anything stupid. Then he set the bottle and the empty glass down with a bit of a clatter. I remember that startled me, but I felt good. It was like all the stress had just disappeared. I hadn't felt good for a long while, it seemed. I barely even noticed Tommy walking towards me. It didn't seem like anything of consequence, so when he stopped, leaning over me, I moved over so there was room for him to sit. He sat down on the very edge of the sofa, since there wasn't much other room.

I closed my eyes, burying myself in the pillow. And then I felt Tommy's arms pulling me away from it and up. I tried to protest, but I forgot why in mid-air. I wound up in his arms, and I suddenly didn't mind. My nose brushed against his neck, and he smelled so good I couldn't stop myself. I snuggled up against Tommy, trying to get as close as I could to him, his skin. Like all addicts, I'd had a relapse. I could say the wine got to my head, that I was tired... But I wasn't that drunk. I still knew up from down, and damn it if I didn't know better. But I placed my head on his shoulder anyways, nuzzling his neck. He was so warm, and I don't know... it just seemed right at the time, I guess. Hell, I relished the feeling. I opened my eyes, looking up into his face, and he was looking back at me with such... intensity that my breath hitched in my throat.

My eyes seemed to close of their own volition, against my will. I was expecting it, the inevitable kiss, but it came slower than I thought. I was there in his arms, pressed against him, so close, and so ready. I moistened my lips with my tongue and pursed my lips, but still, nothing came. I felt disappointed that he'd wisely decided to stop this before it started again. I wanted it to start again. And then it came, and I completely wasn't expecting it. I was completely blown away, and then I couldn't think of anything but him and that moment. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, and he was on top of me. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and pulled him closer to me. My lips were coaxed open, and then I was tasting Tommy, and I just couldn't get enough.

Eventually, though, we had to stop kissing. Tommy was the one to pull back this time, just like I knew he would. I waited so long to open my eyes after that because I knew when I did, he'd shatter this little fantasy. Or worse, I'd wake up and discover it was all a dream. I was panting and utterly breathless, lying there helpless. Tommy could've done anything he wanted to me in that moment. Anything, and I would've done it. In a heartbeat, in a split-second. I could feel his chest heaving against mine and there was something so real about it that I knew I wasn't dreaming. So I opened my eyes ever so slowly, to test out whether it was safe.

When I'd opened my eyes all the way, nothing happened. Tommy didn't move. He didn't turn away and run off like I thought he would. He didn't make me promise it never happened. He was drunk, though, but suddenly that didn't seem to matter all that much... because he was there. That was all that mattered. When I finally opened my eyes, Tommy was staring down at me with dark, piercing eyes. There was something about his features, some new softness I could just barely detect... He smiled down at me lazily, leaning his forehead against mine. His warm, calloused fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and before he could pull his hand away, I grabbed it. I held his fingers and brought them to my lips, kissing each and every one of them. Tommy's smile widened, and he smoothed my hair soothingly.

For what seemed like an eternity, we just lay there, catching our breath. My skin against his... The heavy, reassuring weight of him on top of me, but not too heavy. Not smothering. I didn't feel like I'd been extorted and forced into it. Just enough for it to feel real. I could feel each and every sinuous muscle contracting, stretching, and straining as he exhaled. Tommy regained his breath faster than I did, though, and all too soon, I felt the pressure lessening as he pushed himself off of me. He pulled away again so that he was just sitting on the sofa. I was somewhat dejected, but I forced my unwilling body into a similarly seated position.

Tommy said nothing this time, which in some ways was a lot worse than what he'd said to me before. What was worse was that Tommy was so calm. He was acting like nothing had happened. This time he didn't even have to speak, to tell me again, to let me know his meaning. The "It never happened" was silent. He didn't even need to speak. It was understood. What was really worse, though, was that I didn't have that certainty I had before. Tommy didn't say anything, so I didn't know what to think. It wasn't... resolved. But I sat there anyways, next to the biggest liar in the world, and I didn't say a word to him. I hated not knowing.

For me, ignorance was far from bliss. I could barely sit there in silence. I kept wanting to say something, but I couldn't force the words out. I was far too tired to get into another fight with him. I stubbornly remained mired in apathy, wishing it didn't bother me so much. I straightened, a half-formed idea in my head, deciding quickly to leave. I could call for a taxi, I thought, then just go home. My parents wouldn't care how late I was. They would just be happy I was safe, I thought almost tearfully. Jamie had my cellphone anyways, so I had no means of contacting them but Tommy's phone or the suite phone. Both of which would ring a few bells that were too unpleasantly true to even suggest. Just as I was about to rise regally and walk right out of there, Tommy spoke.

My head turned so fast I felt the whiplash, and I gaped at him with wide eyes. He looked at me, looking a little tragic there. His eyes were like the ocean, only calmed and pure... Two things Tommy and the ocean weren't. I couldn't imagine either of them tamed. But then it is no wonder that ships are always women, for who else could control and twist the seas to their own advantage? The women only skimmed the surface and held fast, but sometimes even the best ships sank, drowning in the depths of the ocean. It was at that moment when I submerged and the tidal wave completely overwhelmed me. I wasn't drowning in water or his stare... I wound up drowning in Tommy, or rather the other way around, if you prefer it.

Either way, I was hopelessly lost at sea, and I would never be the same again. "I'm sorry," Tommy murmured contritely, sounding so honest and so like a little boy that I loved him all the more for it. His eyes were so blue, and his whole posture was slouched. I merely nodded because it was still so hard for me to accept the apology. But seeing him looking so downtrodden and miserable did something to me... I was moved by his display of emotion. Tommy, who was usually cool, devoid of any such tenderness or regret, was looking guilty. It was written all over his face, practically etched into the skin. He deserved to be guilty... He deserved to be made sick with it. I broke a little then, and I wanted to say something. But I didn't trust my words... I didn't think I could talk in sentences anyone could understand. The words felt heavy and wrong and foreign on my tongue. And they would not come.

They stubbornly refused, despite all my silent appeals. I was having just as much trouble wrestling with this situation as Tommy was. He'd put me in an uncomfortable position, as some sort of temptress I was most surely not, drawing him over to the darkness... That path he would not tread, off the road and into the woods... Back to his roots, his instincts, and what he knew was true. I was bringing out that side in him that he didn't like to admit he had, pulling him away from the straight and narrow path he'd learned to tread warily. That side he liked to pretend didn't exist, the one he'd pushed back and held back because he didn't want to be That Guy anymore. But there I was, unwillingly pulling him down with me, facilitating his descent into Hell and darkness, like gravity. Carrying him over to the dark side of the moon. Bringing out all those flaws, all those facets of his character that he didn't want to be seen. The things he didn't want to remember. He was a wolf, and Tommy knew that. Even though he was dressed in sheep's clothing. He was afraid I was tearing him apart, stripping him down to his most basic elements... Making him real, ruining the pretty little world he'd created for himself... Making him not that perfectly coiffed, permatanned clone who walked around in designer clothes, talking and acting like some sort of big shot. I was slowly peeling away that legend status and making him concrete. I was changing him, and Tommy didn't want that or like it. But it was happening nonetheless.

And I felt like the bad person here, because to some degree I had known what I was doing. I didn't want to be a bad person, though... By all accounts, I wasn't. I had, on occasion, deliberately made him jealous. But I had never encouraged him to... to do anything that would jeopardize him. I'd never been blatantly obvious about him; I hadn't been all over him. So I'd kissed him once, almost another time at the farm. Nothing came of it, and he'd never given me any reason to think he would give in. At least he hadn't, until tonight. Still, even as I tried to convince myself that this... whatever it was... wasn't my fault... That I had no control over Tommy's feelings whatsoever, only he had control of his feelings, and Tommy controlled them very well whatever they were. But the more I tried to convince myself of it, the more I thought it had indeed all been my fault.

After all, after I'd overheard him with Kwest, hadn't I secretly rejoiced over the knowledge that Tommy wanted me? I'd alternatively felt guilty for it, but I couldn't pretend I hadn't known about why the tension was there all along. I did. I had. And I'd felt so guilty about it that I tried to write Shay a song when it was my birthday. I would've kissed him in the Viper too, if E.J. hadn't interrupted. Hadn't I known full well that it was heading in that direction? My lips had slid across his cheek as he turned, barely reaching the corner of his lips for the briefest of seconds before I drew back. Hadn't I known that was a sin? Hadn't I known it was wrong for me to do that, to give Tommy those mixed signals? It wasn't right for me to act that way, just like I should never, ever have fallen for him in the first place.

I had known, and I'd known all along. There had once been a time where I jumped at any opportunity to spend even a minute with him, basking in the glow of his presence. How much had I loved the way that he looked at me like I was special? How much had I... had I used him, yes, used him, as a substitute for my absent boyfriend when I was lonely? Too much, I fear. I never smiled the way I smiled in Tommy's presence when I was with Shay. I knew all along who I was really in love with, and Shay was just the stupid mistake. Shay was the attractive, charming bad boy I could have. He wanted me back. He was my age. He was okay to want. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being about making Tommy jealous. It stopped being about that very early on, and then I just fell for Shay, hook, line, and sinker, like a total idiot.

Shay was a distraction, and he hadn't even succeeded in that. Because only seconds after he'd dumped me, I was back to thinking about Tommy. Not that I hadn't thought of him before. I had spent entirely too much time with Tommy while Shay was gone, and that was unhealthy. And after that disastrous kiss, he was all I could think about... And I was done denying I was in love with him. Then there was the denial, and I loved him more, but I hated him. I hated him. Bitterly so, and I resented all that he stood for. I wanted the world to go away so I could be free. So that I could be free to love him, be by his side, and take care of him like I knew I could. I could be good for him, I told myself. I could, too, if Tommy knew what he wanted, but he didn't, and whatever it was... It wasn't me.

Tommy's eyes grew dark, and his stare became unnerving. I felt my heart jump unwillingly in my chest, and I clasped a hand to my breast, feeling flushed. I couldn't help but notice that Tom leaned in towards me a little. He moved over so we were almost touching, and then his arm brushed against mine. Once, twice, thrice... And then I closed my eyes against it, trying to block out the searing burn that spread up my arm like an electric current every time his skin brushed mine. But it didn't go away. In fact, the feeling only seemed to intensify as I snapped my eyes shut and tried so hard to concentrate on not feeling. I was going crazy, but he kept brushing against me accidentally. And yet he did it in such a way with such frequency that I knew it had to be on purpose. I forced myself to inhale deep, shuddering breaths, but then his arm stayed against mine. The feeling didn't go away; it lit me up like a live wire.

My breath came faster and faster as I tried to control it. I tried to hold back my desire to touch him, to kiss him, to show him just how much I loved him... I bit down hard on my bottom lip, forcing my secret down, underneath my skin. I bit down so hard I tasted blood, but I wanted him all the more fiercely by the minute. I gripped the edges of the couch with white knuckles, silently praying he wouldn't notice. I fought it with everything in me, but in the end it proved to me too much of an effort. I had to open my eyes, and when I did, Tommy was looming in my version. He looked apologetic again, and I hated that. I was so sick of him and this sick, stupid game we were playing. I wanted to get it over with, to end it for real.

His eyes were frostbite blue, that rare color somewhere halfway in-between sky blue and ocean blue... Some people call it cobalt, others call it gentian blue. Tommy's eyes change color in the light, but they always have this sparkle in them that comes from the flecks of silver in his irises, silvery blue-gray. Tommy looked remorseful, staring at me all lost and lonely, regret etched into every feature. He leaned in towards me, and I couldn't help but take a sharp intake of breath as he came closer. God, this was _wrong_. But Tommy just leaned in even closer, so I felt his warm breath hovering over my lips. I could practically taste him in the air, and I was dying a slow death by refusing to do the natural thing and kiss him. But I couldn't kiss him, so I restrained myself from going those few extra centimeters.

His eyes narrowed slightly, darkening slightly as the firelight flickered on his face. The light alternatively obscured and illuminated half of his face at a time, and I was mesmerized by the change I saw in his features. I noticed that his eyes immediately darted down to my lips, and I felt myself blush, correctly reading all the thoughts on his face. Few of them were appropriate. Then Tommy licked and pursed his lips, not in a deliberately seductive way, but in a longing way... almost as if he wanted to kiss me again. I wanted him to kiss me again, but I dared not say it and give him the okay. He stared past me for a brief moment, looking like he was off in another world, while I kept staring at him, hoping to draw him in. Suddenly, Tommy turned to once again stare me down, and this time I saw desperation in his eyes.

He was grasping at straws here, and he knew it. Tommy looked a bit panicked, so I placed my hand on his. It seemed to immediately relax him, although the sparks and pleasant warmth that spread over me made me want to cut off my hand. Tommy leaned in closer so that his lips were only a millimeter from mine. If he spoke, our lips would certainly brush... to say the least. A part of me dreaded that moment because I knew I'd get sucked in again, but another part of me was terribly excited. "I'm so sorry, Jude... This is _wrong_," Tommy whispered huskily, pulling back slightly so that our lips didn't brush. Then, however, his eyes darkened to a color I'd never seen before. It was a very dark navy color, almost midnight blue. "But you make it too hard to resist," He breathed, lips pressing fleetingly against mine as he spoke. A sudden weariness appeared in his eyes as he placed a hand on my face, almost lovingly rubbing my cheek. "And I'm not going to fight it anymore," He exhaled, promising me sincerely, sounding utterly exhausted. Less than a second later, he kissed me passionately.

That was not what I'd been expecting, so I was primarily unprepared for it when it came. But I was quick to respond because I loved the fool. I wound up once again on my back, limbs entangled with Tommy's, attached to him by the lips. His lips over mine, soft pressure, a nip here, his lips down to my neck, my fingers in his hair... It was all one big blur, a kaleidoscope of color. When we broke apart, he just breathed like I did. In and out. He made it all seem so easy. I sighed and leaned back against the sofa, trying to make myself comfortable. I was surprised when Tommy didn't move. He just looked down at me with an unreadable look in his ocean-blue eyes. I stared back helplessly in silence, for I could do nothing else.

Tommy's hand skimmed my side, igniting a fire that I could feel through the cold silk. I closed my eyes peacefully, and then he kissed my neck. He trailed his lips down my neck, pulling down my dress just a bit further each time. Then his lips turned and went up the other side of my neck. His tongue was hot against my cool skin, and his light touch tickled at first. "Jude, I..." Tommy began distractedly, causing me to open his eyes. I had the distinct impression that he was going to say something important, but Tommy never finished his sentence. He kissed me again, and I wrapped my arm around the back of his waist, pulling him further against me. Tommy groaned loudly and bit my lip on accident. It only hurt a few seconds, but Tommy pulled back. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He slurred slightly, seeming somewhat disoriented from either the liquor or oxygen deprivation.

I shook my head slowly, smiling widely in the hopes that he'd get the message. "Quite the opposite, really," I murmured softly, rather suggestively. Tommy looked somewhat relieved, but he didn't kiss me again. He pulled away and moved away from me, even going so far as to walk over and sit in the chair he'd sat in earlier. I was very confused by this course of events. Here Tommy was, going against his principles on multiple occasions. But I was sick of waiting around. I sighed, rising to my feet, and picked the blanket he'd given me up off the floor, where it had lain, forgotten. The blanket was red and very soft. My clothes were still wet and uncomfortable, and they weren't drying on my body. I decided then to take off my clothes and drape the blanket around myself. So while Tommy was sitting there, staring into space, thinking and clutching his head, I picked up the blanket and walked through his suite in search of a bathroom. The place had three; a master bath, a guest bath, and one in the hall by the kitchen, but I didn't know that. I found the bathroom eventually after happening upon his guest bedroom, where I decided to stay.

Then I locked the door to the small powder room behind me, slowly and methodically taking off my clothes, starting with the jewelry. It was too rich for me, so I cast it off angrily, throwing it violently on the counter. They were lousy cheap wannabe emeralds anyways, nothing special, just like me. I nearly tore off the silk, hating to see it on my skin, because the green reminded me of my envy. It suggested an elegance that was beyond me. I quickly removed the undergarments, which weren't my style anyways and didn't match the dress. They screamed "sex" in bold letters and colored print with an exclamation point at the end. What had I been thinking about tonight?! It had all gone so much differently than I'd thought. So what had I been expecting?

I hung up the clothes and left everything in that room, wrapping the blanket tightly around myself. I glanced down the hallway for any sign of Tommy, but I saw nothing. I thought myself safe accordingly, and I retired to the guest bedroom. I frowned and slid unto the bed, holding the blanket around me tightly. It felt amazingly soft against my bare skin, and I felt... free. I laid down on the bed, fluffing the pillow and making myself comfortable. I closed my eyes, tugging the blanket up over any exposed skin. I was just beginning to drift off when I heard a sound, muffled footsteps. I realized dully that Tommy was in the room, but I no longer cared. I heard him walk towards me, and I felt his presence hovering over me. I felt his eyes on me, watching me, regarding me curiously.

His fingers pulled down the blanket a little. I didn't let him get away with much. Before his hands could go any further, I slapped them away. He didn't leave, though. He stayed there, swaying on his feet and staring at my skin shining in the moonlight. He stayed there so long that I was forced to open my heavy eyelids. I peered out at him wearily, through reluctant eyes that were still half-sealed shut. The room was only lit up by moonlight, but Tommy's eyes were dark and smoky, a startlingly piercing shade of blue. He saw my cloudy eyes open and immediately swooped down to kiss me. Somehow, he knew there was nothing underneath that blanket. He knew that as he climbed on top of me and kissed me so thoroughly I felt it down to my toes.

Tommy was well aware of that fact going into it. So he unfolded and loosened the blanket around me until I was entirely bare to him. Then he looked down and had a long, hard look at me, all of me, with those hungry eyes of his. And he liked what he saw, because he swooped down and kissed me again, harder. I moaned softly, causing Tommy to smile against my lips. Then my hands came up quickly to unbutton his shirt of their own accord. And before I knew what I was doing, my fingers were tugging on his pants. Tommy pulled back at this, breathless and staring at me wide-eyed. He was still surprised at my nudity, among other things. His eyes were wide and sky blue. I kissed him to distract him and attempted to fiddle with his zipper, but Tommy noticed and soon broke the kiss. He shook his head at me, and I felt rejected once again. But then came the soft, hot, whisper against my ear, "Not here." He looked at me with soft, pleading eyes and placed his hands on my skin.

He closed his eyes and sighed. And he did nothing, just kept his hands there. Then Tommy grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bed. I remember how incredibly self-conscious I felt. I was cold and terrified, yet I was also excited. I wanted to see what was going to happen. It still hadn't exactly registered in my head... That Tommy wanted me and... It didn't even register fully when he led me to his bedroom. He didn't look back once over his shoulder, not even to look at me. He just opened the door slowly, silently, and he turned around to face me. His eyes wandered, and I flushed at his stare. He didn't have to say it, but he was giving me a choice.

Tommy stood halfway in the doorway, half obscured by shadows, half bathed in light. His right hand beckoned toward the room, while his left hand was still firmly grasping mine. He stood there, standing up straight and tall, every inch of his full height, expressionless, pressure-less... The stupid black dress shirt was opened, but still on him, over his muscular arms and strong shoulders. He understood that I was in a vulnerable state, so he waited patiently for answer. He didn't want to take advantage of me, and I don't think he did, even now. Maybe he took advantage of the fact that I was in love with him, but I was no better. I knew deep down that the only way he'd do anything with me... the only way I'd get one ounce of honesty out of him... was if he was drunk. I didn't look at his face, though. I looked at our hands... his fingers entwined with mine. It was a promising gesture, and it was enough for me. Enough for me to make up my mind. I looked up finally, smiled at him timidly, and then I walked past him into the room.

I gazed around at the room, somewhat in awe. So this was Tommy's bedroom. It was a grand, beautiful, impressive room, but I saw no traces of Tommy in it. The walls were painted a bright, rich gold, but there wasn't a single painting on the wall. The entire back wall was composed of windows, windows and firmly locked French doors. A deep red curtain swept across all the windows, keeping Tom's illegal affairs private. That scarlet seemed to me a reminder of how utterly wrong all of this was, but I didn't care. There was a chance that Tommy loved me too, or that he would... And I wasn't going to give that up for anything. There was a desk by the window, and in the darkness, I noticed two photographs and a few journals on it. They were the only signs that someone actually lived there. There were chairs in various parts of the room, a large armoire, a closet, a door that lead to the bathroom. It became clear to me, however, after two seconds in the room, that the bed was clearly the center of the room.

It was a king-sized bed with the softest mattress I've ever slept on. Nothing fancy like a waterbed or that foam stuff. Two mattresses and some sheets. It had such a strange, elaborate headboard; it had been carved intricately. Clearly, a lot of time and work had gone into that bed. The sheets were pure white, as white as snow... and they seemed laughably out of place in Tommy's room. There was something almost ethereal about them, too, and the sheets almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. He was so impure and dirty in comparison. Ironic is what they really were. But then again, I guess it's fitting, isn't it? After all, wedding dresses are white, too... And if the bride's really a virgin, they're the last thing she wears as a virgin. What better color to lose your virginity on than white? It made it all the more visible, the contrast all the more stark... The change all the more hard and obvious. And it made the sin even more black a mark so that it was eternal... It couldn't be denied like that kiss.

Tommy and I made our way towards the bed. I sat down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not knowing quite what to do. Tommy sat down next to me, and I found myself all too aware of his leg brushing against mine. Tommy was pointedly not looking at me in an attempt to make me feel comfortable. However, it had the exact opposite effect because I thought it meant that this was all just some sex thing for him. I thought he didn't want to look at me because I was so hideous. Tommy suddenly wrapped an arm around me, and I stiffened reflexively. Tommy pulled back immediately, almost like he was nervous about what was going to happen. I glanced over at him seconds later, but Tommy was staring pensively at the floor. I felt the worry bubbling up in my chest. Did he not want this anymore?

I didn't want that to happen, so I casually placed my hand on his thigh. There was something so surreal about the moment, but I pushed it down and into a forgotten corner. Tommy's eyes met mine then, and he seemed to be saying things with them that I couldn't understand. There were so many emotions swirling around in his eyes that I almost got lost in them. I'm still not sure what he was saying, but I think he was asking if I was really okay with this. And I was, so I didn't object. I smiled and let him kiss me, showing him my approval. Then I fell back on the bed and dragged Tommy under the sheets with me. My inexperienced fingers fumbled with the zipper, so Tommy helped me. He helped me take off his clothes and tossed the useless clothing on the floor.

What I remember most was how warm his skin was. His warmth was contagious, and it just as easily spread to me when we weren't even doing anything. He was just there with me. I don't know how long the two of us laid there in that bed, naked underneath the sheets, just staring up at the ceiling and not saying a word. But we did. We stayed there like that for the longest time, not even touching. Our shoulders didn't even brush, and I began to think that Tommy had never intended to try anything. But then he turned over unto his side and stared at me for a very long time, so long that it made me restless in my own skin. I felt hot and confused beyond belief. A slow smile spread across his face as he stared, and he eventually reached out and placed a hand on my cheek. "You're breathtaking, girl," Tommy murmured dazedly, staring at me with turquoise bursting in his eyes.

His fingers slid down my face and up the curve of my shoulder- apparently I'd turned to face him too. That gentle, misleading, closed-mouthed smile lingered on his lips. I felt myself redden at the compliment. Tommy leaned in towards me subtly, slowly, so that I didn't even notice. "Let me make it better, Jude," Tommy pleaded nearly desperately, leaning in even closer. Then he pressed his full lips against mine like a promise, to show me that he could take away the pain. It had faded away long ago to nothing more than a dull prick, but now it seemed to be gone entirely. He did make it better too, just as he'd promised, because when he touched me, I forgot all about everything else. There was just him and me there, and I could barely remember my own name.

His hands found their rightful place on my skin. His lips were soft and pliant against mine. He tasted like red wine and cigarettes and whisky. And every time he kissed me, he murmured an apology under his breath. He mumbled "sorry" against my skin, over my neck, down my stomach, between my breasts, up my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He whispered fervently, so soft I could barely hear it. _What else can I be, but all apologies?_ He trailed wet, forceful kisses down my throat, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne. And, before I'd even realized it, he was on top of me, his bare skin pressing against mine. His hands ran over my hot skin, blindly exploring in the dark as if he wanted to memorize every curve solely by touch. I was aflame with a desire so strong that I couldn't deny him. I've never wanted something more in my life than him in that moment. I moaned softly, wanting to say something badly but not wanting to ruin the moment. I didn't tell him I loved him, even though I did, even though I'd never loved him more.

It wasn't secure. It felt somehow wrong that I hadn't confessed, that I'd had sex with him before really admitting to myself and to him that I loved him. That I always would, in spite of everything. There was something unsettling about it. I wasn't sure what his motives were... if he was just horny, and I was in the right place at the wrong time. It was always the wrong time in my case. Was it just lust on his part, or was there something more? These questions haunted me afterwards, even days afterwards. I liked to think that there were some feelings tied up in the illicit tryst, but what did I know? I was just a naïve kid. Something told me, though, and I just knew that it was different. It was real.

But what scared me the most of all was that Tommy hadn't said that he loved me. There was a security in that, a promise in that. I had neither, and I felt bereft for it. I didn't know if he did or not, but the mere idea seemed unfathomable to me. I was worried that afterwards he'd see me differently, that he'd look at me like I was some whore who just gave it up for everyone. I wanted him to love me so badly... that sometimes, during that night, I wondered if this wasn't all some elaborate, fantastical dream. And then, I thought, if it was a dream, I never wanted it to end. And the thought shook me to the core.

Then again, so did Tommy. He pressed light kisses all over my face, across my chest, my arms... Still repentant, seeking acceptance and forgiveness. He was trying to make up for it so hard. I hadn't the faintest idea of what exactly this was or how to do it properly, so I just laid back and took it. I grabbed Tommy hard by the neck once, sick of his kisses and breath tickling me. I pulled him into an extremely demanding, involved kiss, pouring all of my frustration into it. Somehow Tommy seemed to sense that I didn't know what I was doing, even in his mild inebriation. He was a good teacher, patient and so wise. It struck me how reverent he was. He scorned physical displays of affection, but he never took his hands or his eyes off of me. He merely stared at me with glazed, worshipping eyes, making me feel warm inside. He made sure to make it memorable. It wasn't some raw, animalistic fling driven by need and urges. It was slow, long, and real.

When I think about it now, it all seems like an amazing, incredible blur. And it's all hazy and cloudy, and I can't properly remember it. Skin-on-skin and "I'm sorry". But there was one part I'll never forget. That moment, you know the one. Where I lost it. It was so surreal... I remember it with a strange, almost beautiful clarity.

Tommy was languid in his movements, and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His skin was smooth and taut. The normally tan, dark honey color of it seemed almost milky in the dim light. His dark, almost raven-colored hair was damp and an uncharacteristic mess of wavy curls, pushed back off his face. The celestial moonlight shone on his skin, lighting up his face in the black darkness. It gave him an ethereal sort of beauty, and I felt so undeserving and woefully inadequate. This man, this veritable David, wanted me. His face was flushed; his eyes wide. His eyelids fluttered distractedly as he breathed, focusing on me and the moment. His apologies slowed, softened, and then perhaps stopped altogether. My blood pounded hard against my battered veins, surging, running away... Tommy had slowly ceased his ministrations and his kisses, but he was still breathless. I remember the way his chest heaved against mine, how I could feel every breath, every sinuous muscle. He pouted unconsciously, licking his lips thirstily, pink tongue sweeping across them tantalizingly. I remember how hard he bit down on his lip, concentrating and forcing that self-control. He was almost hovering over me, propped up on his hands, but leaning against me at the same time.

He was looking down at me with eyes wide open, pupils dilated. He kept blinking, though, so much it was almost unnatural. But I grew to love and accept each flick of his long, thick black eyelashes. They brushed against my skin occasionally, tickling but not enough to elicit a full giggle. Tommy never looked away, not once. I'll never forget his eyes, though. They will stick with me to my grave, I swear it. His pupils were large and fully dilated, but not quite relaxed. Those blue orbs loomed in my eyes, haunting me like a blue moon on a sinister night. His shockingly sky blue eyes held me to the spot, freezing me with their cool ice. His gaze softened suddenly, and then I was awash and drowning in the shallow waters of his affection. Then his eyes deepened, turning cerulean and coaxing me down underneath the waves to the watery depths, a watery grave. His eyes were like mermaids that swam circles in my vision and beckoned me to join them with their siren song. His eyes flashed navy, then immediately midnight blue, so richly blue they were almost black. They stayed that color, that lust-soaked, shipwrecked, secretive color.

What I remember most of all about it was... The way he took his time. The way his touch lingered and tingled and then burned. His voice low, hoarse, and strained in my ears. Slippery skin against soft, glistening skin. Hands clawed at the sheets, the silken, thin sheets. Hands groping wildly, caressing tenderly, fondling... The apologies returned, slipping off his tongue like silver, getting progressively louder. Nails scratching, digging into his back, cutting the flesh. Drawing blood. Red lips bitten unconsciously, tasting blood. Moans, silent, muffled moans. "Sorry... I'm sorry... Oh, I... God! I'm... Sorry, so so sorry... I... Oh. Sorry. Sorry, forgive me... Ah! So sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry," Tommy had slurred, so that each apology blurred together into one long word as he spoke faster and faster, breathier and breathier. Thrusting forward painfully slowly, inch by inch by inch. A slow climb in pace, quickening... That desire crawling underneath my skin like an itch I couldn't scratch, making me lose my head. I clawed at his hands impatiently, panting, wanting, needing. There was no pain, either, not like they said. Not even a prick, just... relief and the most overwhelming happiness of my life. Hips slamming against hips, harder and harder. Over and over. It didn't come suddenly, it was more of a gradual wave and then... Screams! Then there was the white-hot, blinding flash and the exploding fireworks! Then came the release, the slowdown, as Tommy let go. He murmured something softly, against my skin, but I couldn't understand. The only message he'd imparted was that it was important and that even he didn't remember what he said in the heat of the moment. At that time, words were a nonissue... There was no need for them. He gave in to me, and I surrendered completely.

Inside, outside, upside-down... The world was twisted and bright, oddly so. Everything seemed slightly off-color or just a little out of place. The world looked suddenly different because I was seeing it through different eyes. More worldly eyes. Surprisingly, the supposedly fleeting pleasure didn't fade away either, but instead persisted and very, very slowly, so that I could only just barely feel it... burned out. I was so high I understood what it must feel like to take a drug. Only the kind of ecstasy I was high on was a much more natural kind. I'll never forget that moment when we joined, and two became one. It was like the same blood was running through our veins. I've never felt that in sync with someone. I've never been that close to anyone. That's what I liked the most... the intimacy. I liked being part of something; I liked being a part of a whole. I loved being bound to Tommy, joined together for always. And then I knew that he'd always be a little part of me.

I wanted it all, though. I wanted a relationship, not just casual sex. I wanted pancakes for breakfast, diamond rings, dinner-and-a-movie, rainy afternoons spent in bed... I wanted the whole thing. So he'd truly kept his promise. My heart had been mended; the pieces carefully picked up and painstakingly put back together. Only to break all over again, destined to shatter into a million pieces within a matter of hours. I was in a dreamy post-coital love fog, and all I could see was Tommy. I was blind and stupid. He'd collapsed on top of me, panting, and I didn't mind, even though he'd knocked the wind out of me. We were still attached, bonded by ties as old as mankind, and I didn't want to break the spell. We caught our breath together, hungrily gasping for air. I could still feel him breathing, still feel his heart racing. That connectedness had a powerful effect on me. It made me think foolish, flighty thoughts, swearing in my head that Tommy was my soul mate. My only one.

And so I forgave him completely, unconditionally, easily forgetting what he'd done to me.

How he'd utterly devastated and broken me.

I could've written a million songs about that one moment. About how Tommy looked in the moonlight, glistening with sweat. How he felt against me, how smooth his skin was... But finally, Tommy had to pull away, rolling over unto his back. He did not kiss me and very nearly flopped over so that the mattress sagged heavily underneath his weight. He was not even touching me then. This time he made no more apologies, and if he had, I wouldn't have wanted them. I glanced over at him for an answer, feeling lost in the intensity of this... confused beyond belief... But his eyes were closed, and his body language told me nothing. His breaths came slower and slower, and I thought he was asleep... So I pulled up the sheets around me, turning on my side, away from him, so that my back was the only part of me that was facing him. I felt so... empty without him. Yet not even ten minutes later, Tommy opened his eyes, leaning over me, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "I can't get enough of you, Jude," He whispered huskily, brushing his lips against my collarbone. That was it for me. I was a goner from the start.

This time he wasn't trying to make up for something. It wasn't like it was the first time, where there was something in the air, and my skin was still cool from the discarded dress. The rain wasn't just falling on the roof above us then, for a full thunderstorm had emerged. Lightning flashed, and thunder cracked. The rain pelted the roof violently. My skin was clammy; I was already too hot. Tommy's skin was burning, and his face was red, but not unattractively. This time it was about passion... sheer, simple passion and nothing else. The sheets clung to our sticky skin. It was amazingly easy how natural it all came. He climbed over me within seconds, and I fisted my hands in his hair, pulling him forward, tight against me. I shifted subconsciously to accommodate him, got used to his weight. I arched my back, moaning gutturally, pressing hard against his skin.

He kissed me bruisingly, making my lips bitten and swollen. His tongue making a wet trail down my neck, down my chest, down... His muscles were firm, unflinching. He didn't even look tired. His eyes glowed a bright, electric blue with some sort of supernatural energy. He needed me desperately. It was just as he said. He couldn't get enough. His hands started to wander down my body, sliding effortlessly over the skin. The air was sizzling. It was all very hot, and Tommy was so very, very close. Closer than I'd realized, as I could feel his body radiating heat unto me. He showed me the way, teaching me carefully... His hands fisted in my hair, almost hard enough that it hurt. I dug my nails into his shoulders, biting back a moan. His eyes, constantly half-closed, turned black with lust. His eyes had been wide open earlier, regarding me, trying to memorize everything the first time. This time he made no apologies. He wanted me, and I wanted him. That's all it was. Sex. But I was more than okay with that.

I wasn't like him, though. I can't separate emotions from actions. So as much as that time was about passion, the sheer fact that I couldn't keep my hands off him... It wasn't all about the sex for me. Although that was great, beyond it really... This time was painful, hard, almost bestial. It seemed so fast, so sudden, too. Like raw animal desire. Tommy was relentless, tireless. He was amazing. He sucked fiercely at my neck, increasing the pressure so that I became lightheaded, making one angry red bruise after another. He'd officially marked me as his territory. There was nothing tender about it, just like that ferocious kiss in the alleyway. The only difference was that this didn't take me by surprise; Tommy didn't pounce. The only thing remotely similar about what had happened the first time around and this was that... His hand held mine in a tight death-grip, and no matter what happened, I had the reassuring sensation of his fingers enlaced with mine. That was the one sentimental thing about the moment. That time wore me out. I got bruises, pulled muscles I never knew I had, and I was so tired I couldn't even conceive the idea of ever having sex again.

But I loved every painful minute of it. It was a sort of exquisite pain, a pain I delighted in, one I was proud of. It felt like a rite of passage. I was a woman now, and that was just it. After that, the both of us were exhausted, so we both slept a while. When I woke up, it was maybe an hour or so later, and I was still weary beyond belief. I glanced over at Tommy, who was facing the other direction, half exposed by the sheets. He was not touching me, even in his sleep. He was just lying there, skin still gleaming slightly, slumbering peacefully. It was hard to believe that this seemingly angelic man was the one who had just... I colored at the thought, somehow regaining my senses. I suddenly wondered what I was still doing there. Tommy did not want women around to snuggle with him. What was I doing in his bed? I knew I had to get out of there.

I had to go home. Neither my parents nor my friends knew what had happened to me. I was sure my mother was furious. I couldn't stay. So I slipped out of the bed, feeling all too much like a whore. I felt dirty like I'm sure every other girl must've felt upon vacating the premises. It seemed like Tommy had just used me for sex. I felt different, not being a virgin anymore... more insecure. What had I been thinking last night? Tommy didn't love me, and it was foolish to think that having sex with him meant anything to him. I shook my head, walking towards the door but not before casting one lingering glance at him. Just looking at him, I knew he didn't want me there. I'd made a mistake, a horrible mistake. Even if it was the best mistake of my life. I remembered the way it had felt to feel like that, to feel loved even when I wasn't.

I wondered if it had even meant anything to Tommy. It had meant _everything_ to me. Everything. Why, even in his sleep, did he look so indifferent? I had wished for a sign of how he felt, but I'd only got more confusion. At least I got what I wanted. I got him, even if it was only for one night. It still meant the world to me. I knew what it was like, at least, to have him once. More than once. And I knew that it would drive me crazy, wanting that with him, every last day of my life. But I was prepared to deal with that. I thought it'd be better if I just left, less awkward, less embarrassing. So I turned away, feeling my eyes inexplicably fill with tears, missing him already, and I went into the guest room to collect my things like a professional. I steeled myself, but the tears fell regardless... no matter how much I wiped them away, there I felt they stayed on my cheeks... salt water. I pulled my clothes on smoothly, coolly, in the dark, and eventually the tears stopped falling altogether. I fastened my jewelry haphazardly, almost frantic with the desire of escaping.

I wanted to run from my mistakes. I should've known I couldn't do that. Now nearly fully dressed, I padded down the hall, through the kitchen, into the foyer. I stealthily snagged my coat from the rack as I was passing it, nearly flying into the living room of sorts. I fumbled around in the still-lighted room for my shoes, slipping them on my feet. I snuck out on my tiptoes, insuring that the heels didn't touch the ground. My heels did touch the ground though, very lightly, when I was right in front of the door, trying to unlock it. I had undone the deadbolt as quietly as I could, and then I had just twisted the other lock open when the door to Tommy's bedroom slammed open. Tommy stormed over to me, naked as the day he was born.

Naturally, now that he was standing and I could finally get a proper look at him, you can imagine the way I stared. I burned immediately, realizing the way I was staring at him. I forced myself to glance away, feeling embarrassed that I'd been so transparent. I shouldn't look at him lustfully. Besides, to what end? Tommy did not love me. I didn't want to wind up back in that bed with him as much as I did, knowing it meant nothing. There was more to sex than pleasure, and I wouldn't settle for some empty physical satisfaction. All I wanted to do now was go home. Tommy, on the other hand, was utterly unashamed and unembarrassed. He was, however, furious with me. His shoulders were tense, and he approached me rapidly, slamming and locking the door shut behind me, advancing so that I was pressed up against it. I was sandwiched between him, unflinching, and the wooden door, unyielding. It was not as pleasant a position to be in as it sounds.

For once in my life, I did not want to be close to Tommy. I wanted to be a thousand miles away from him, as far as I could possibly be. I did not want to see him. Yet here he loomed in my vision, trapping me, pinning me to the door. Blocking and thwarting my escape. For what purpose? Why did he want to keep me here? Did he require another sex marathon? I scowled at the thought, not wanting to go back there again, not wanting to be that girl. Besides, I thought frustratedly, I was too tired. "What are you doing?" Tommy asked coolly with a deadly calm. I could sense the anger underlying his tone, but I forced myself to ignore it. I gestured wordlessly towards the door. I was leaving, and Tommy knew that much. He, however, refused to move even one inch, holding the door shut. His stare was dark, boring into me.

I sighed heavily, unable to breathe out the emotions pent up in my chest. I looked down at the floor as if it were fascinating. I knew then if I looked at Tommy that I couldn't say no. And I needed to say no. I needed to walk right out of that door, whole, like the entirety of this night had meant nothing to me. Honestly, I still wasn't sure I could do that. But I didn't have a choice, so I had to. "I'm leaving, Tommy. I need to get back home. Dad's probably worried sick, thinking that I've been raped, bleeding, lying in some gutter," I said quietly, protesting weaker than I intended. I almost choked on the irony of how nearly true that statement was. I had bled, and I'd had sex, yeah. And right about then, I felt so low, so dirty, so _used_, I wanted to lay in that damn gutter. I tried fruitlessly to push Tommy's oppressive arms away, but they were hard like steel and did not budge an inch.

Tommy shook his head stubbornly, leaning in even closer to me. He wasn't drowned in cologne like he usually was. It was a nice change, I reflected idly. His hands moved away from the wall; he placed them on my shoulders, slowly trailing them down my arms. He placed a finger under my chin, gently pushing my chin upwards so I had to look at him. I think he knew that would make me weak. He rubbed the side of my jaw with his fingers, taking my chin fully in his hand, pulling me towards him. His eyes were still stormy and unpredictable. "You _can't_ leave me," Tommy demanded, so accustomed to getting his way. He expected I'd do it, no question. He licked his lips while talking and staring at mine. "Not now, not at this time of night. I'll drive you home in the morning," Tommy said, drawing back from me, sounding just a bit more reasonable. I hated to admit it, but the man had a point. Unless I was going to steal and hotwire his car, if I even remembered where it was, I was going to have to walk home. And attempting to walk home had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

Tommy hadn't liked that then, and he didn't like it now. His calloused fingers were splayed across my cheek still. He smiled at me softly, somewhat lazily. His eyes were clouded and almost pleading. His touch was warm, so warm. I remembered the way my skin had cooled walking through the halls, the goosebumps that had formed on my skin. I remembered how good his touch had felt. I wanted to give in so badly. I bit my lip, fighting it with everything I had. Then, when I heard Tommy's voice, his low, deep voice. "Just... come back to bed, Jude," He asked huskily, wearily, eyelids fluttering. I wanted to say yes. I almost did, too, but I leaned in against him so I could kiss him. He pulled back just then, at that very moment, giving me a choice I hadn't expected. In his own way, he was making it easier for me. Maybe he wanted my decision to be of my own volition, so he'd know I really wanted to be there. Or maybe he just knew that if he pulled away and acted aloof, I'd come to him. He stared at me with a look I couldn't place, almost holding out his arms. He was not a patient man, but he was patient there, waiting for my answer.

"No," I said quietly, hearing my voice tremble, staring at my feet in those shoes. "I must." I'd liked them so much before, so why now did they seem... almost like tarnished gold? And gold didn't even tarnish. I said no because I couldn't say anything else and respect myself. I didn't want to. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, kiss him, and drag him back into that bedroom. I had to say no... but I didn't have to mean it. I felt behind me for the lock, finding it and unlocking it, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Tommy hadn't locked the deadbolt. When I grabbed the doorknob, twisting it hard, it opened behind me. Then I whirled around, because I didn't want to see the look on his face. I didn't want to face the reaction I knew was coming. I forced the tears back, faking a smile, hating how bitter I knew it was.

I glanced over my shoulder then, so I could get one last look at him. He seemed oddly distraught by my leaving. Like he wanted me to stay or something. He was acting like I'd meant something to him, like he didn't just want me to have sex with him again. Or maybe it was just because he'd cared like he had before, and that he didn't want me going out into the big, bad world all alone. I tore my eyes away from him painfully, turning back around, opening the door a fraction more. Once again, Tommy's voice stopped me in my tracks. "God, what do you want me to _say_?! I'll say it!" Tommy shouted desperately.

The uncharacteristically plaintive strain in his voice made me whirl to face him. It seemed so out of place, off-key even. I knew it meant something, because Tommy was a very particular man. He was obsessed with perfection, and very hard-pressed to be caught off-guard. This was Tommy undone. I didn't know why, but for some reason, the messy hair didn't bother him. The fact that the door was partially open, possibly exposing his nudity to the hall didn't matter. And why should it? After all, half the country had seen him naked already. The fact that he looked anything less than absolutely perfect, slightly unkempt, in fact... That didn't even bother him. He still looked perfect, even when his hair was ruffled from sleep. I hated that he still looked like a statue, unmoving and perfectly sculpted, even now after... after everything. "_Something_, Tommy," I snapped with tears in my eyes. I made a wide, sweeping gesture, seeing through blurry eyes. "Something to show me that this meant something to you," I whispered brokenly, swallowing over the lump in my throat.

I hated to say the words I was going to say next because they made me feel pathetic. But I had to say it. It was the pink elephant in the room that no one was talking about but everyone knew was there. I had to give a voice to my fear. I couldn't just ignore it and keep those words inside. I needed clarity, honesty. I wanted answer to my implied question. "That this wasn't just a one-night stand," I barely managed to get out. It was amazing I managed to look up at Tommy and see him clearly at that very moment. I'd said something so stupid, made myself so vulnerable in front of him. Yet Tommy softened, looking just a bit surprised.

"Oh," He'd said at first, still processing it. I didn't understand how he could be surprised. Like I didn't know what the tabloids said about him? Like I hadn't heard all the stories about his wild flings on T.V.? Why on earth did he think I'd assume anything different? Assuming that Tommy loved me, well, that was just a bit too much, and after what Shay did to me, I would never be that naïve again. Tommy walked towards me slowly, and I released the door abruptly. It slammed shut behind me. He was frowning. "That's what this is about?" He asked, still sounding confused. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, to point out the fact that, well... What else could a guy like him want with a girl like me? I was like that girl a man's ashamed to be with, that he doesn't want to be seen with. Besides, if he was, he could get arrested. Tommy's frown disappeared, and a despairing, tragic look came across his face as he approached me. He looked at me with soft eyes, wrapping his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You didn't even have to **ask**, Jude," He murmured, looking me deep in the eyes.

I pulled back, extricating myself awkwardly from his grasp. What did he mean? Tommy looked down, sighing, as if trying to find the words. I could smell the whisky on his breath. I stayed silent, and when he finally looked up, I was surprised by what I saw in his eyes. His eyes were so light and something about him seemed somehow off-kilter. Like he didn't know what to do with himself. And if he wasn't anything, Tommy was surely not an unsure man. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he was doing. He always did, and he always had. It was an unnerving experience. To know that Tommy didn't know everything after all.

He bit down hard on his lip and started talking. I didn't even notice it, but he intertwined his fingers with mine. "You _terrify_ me, Jude," Tommy began in a hushed tone, eyes wide. I stiffened a little, feeling sort of insulted. Tommy eyed me searchingly for a moment before he launched back into his explanation. "I don't know what I'm doing with you," He continued, sounding so utterly hopeless I didn't know what I was doing with him, depending on him. I actually frowned at that one. Predictably, Tommy didn't notice. "That's new to me," He replied, glancing up at me, "I like to pretend that I have all the answers, but I don't." I didn't need Tommy to tell me that. I knew that before. He had never seemed short of words before. He always seemed to know what to do before, what to say to fix everything, to make me feel better.

He sighed, a dark look crossing his face. He turned red in the face for some time, clearly full of frustration. But he bore it well, as he bore everything. He dropped my hand and almost stomped off around the room. He wandered aimlessly, like he wasn't even looking where he was going. "I've never felt this way about anyone before... in my whole life," Tommy declared passionately as he suddenly came to a stop, meeting my gaze almost hesitantly. My breath caught in my throat and hung there, suspended, for a moment that seemed like a lifetime. He had said almost exactly what I'd wanted to hear... but not quite. It had done the job, though. He had shown me that I meant something to him. Just... Just not what I wanted to mean to him. I wanted me to mean to him what he means to me. Was it so selfish, so foolish to wish that I was his sun, his moon, his true North? Yes, I decided finally, firmly. Yes, it was wrong because he was far too old for me. I exhaled then, closing my eyes, listening hard for something that would never come.

Yet Tommy continued to speak as if it would do me any good. As if it would change the fact that he did not love me. He cared, heavens yes, but not nearly enough. He didn't love me in the way I needed to be loved. He cared about my well-being. He wanted to look out for me, to take me under his wing and protect me. He wanted to care for me. And these were all noble, wonderful things from a less than noble man, but they weren't enough. That would mean he loved me like a sister, but after this night, that was clearly not the case. Not as a sister, not as a friend, but still... not like a woman. Tonight was the closest he'd ever come to loving me the way I wanted to be loved, and he'd only done that in the purely physical, bodily sense. I could get in his mind, and I could get what I wanted from his body... But I couldn't ever get at the frozen, fortified heart within... a heart that, had it ever known how to love, had forgotten how. Regardless of whatever he said about how special I was. Special or not, that didn't change anything.

I think Tommy wanted to love me the way I loved him. If only because it would make things so much easier. But he didn't, and all the trying in the world wouldn't change that. Tommy's eyes got wistful as he ran a hand through his hair, stretching languidly. I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood at the all-too enticing sight. He was frowning, of course, and he looked anything but happy. None of that unpleasantness, the same unpleasantness that was carved into every feature, every line of his body, took anything away from his Mediterranean handsomeness. "I've never cared so much about another person," He proclaimed sincerely, seriously, as he looked me deep in the eyes and grabbed at my hands. I jerked my fingers from his grip subconsciously. Tommy looked genuinely repentant and somewhat disbelieving that it had all come to this. "No one's ever meant this much to me. No one's ever cared about me like you have, unconditionally," Tommy breathed, awestruck, confused eyes wide with an adoration that went unspoken.

I couldn't decide whether he seemed more surprised that I was so important to him or... that someone could love him as much as I did for no reason, even when everything in me and everyone around me was telling me not to. But, if it had been the latter, I felt very sorry for Tommy. If he did not know love, then how could I blame him for not feeling it? Time heals all wounds. Time was my answer. What was so surprising about the notion that someone could love him like that? It wasn't exactly an alien emotion to him. He had, after all, been married. I envied Portia for that sometimes, because she took a little piece of Tommy away with her, one that I longed for with every fiber of my being. I don't mean that he was a virgin before he got married because that's obviously not true. I was jealous of the fact that she got there first, and after what Tommy had gone through with her... It was obvious he wasn't ever going to get married again.

Hadn't he had anyone who'd loved him unconditionally? A friend, a woman, a parent, a relative, a pet... a somebody? I refused to believe that his life could've been so loveless. Or maybe, maybe he meant that no one had ever just loved him for who he was and nothing more. That no one had fully accepted who he was and still found it in their heart to love him. It was hard for me to believe that he was really so awful that he was incapable of being loved by anyone. I knew he'd done bad things. We all had. Hell, I'd seen him do a good portion of those bad things, and I was accustomed to being on the receiving end of such a heartbreaking action. And it wasn't nice, and it hurt, but I'd always been told that love did. Tommy glanced down at the ground, distractedly fiddling with his hands. "The thought of being with you like this, it worries me... Because I don't want to ruin what we have," He said softly, barely peering back up at me, looking nervous. He said it too late, though. We'd both already ruined it. Tommy pursed his lips tightly. "I don't want to hurt you. And I don't know why," Tommy whispered anxiously, stepping towards me cautiously.

Licking my lips in anticipation of the expected kiss, I was beginning to feel like Tommy did love me after all. Or something like that, anyways. As close as he got, I suppose. Tommy didn't want to hurt me, so it was okay. I smiled hesitantly, weakly, and I stood my ground. He came closer and closer, but I remained tight-lipped. Yet I did not move. I let him approach me as if he was a unicorn, and I was still a virgin. When he finally reached me, he did not kiss me, although his lips would've met a warm reception. The sensation would've been welcomed. He spoke instead, which struck me as odd, since Tom was a man of action, not of words... And we both well knew that. "We're so alike that it scares me sometimes. I've never met anyone who understands me like you do," Tommy mumbled, sounding somewhat hoarse. He reached out for my fingers once again, this time managing to grasp them. He held my hands up in the air, staring at my fingers as if fascinated. As he kissed my fingertips like I had done for him earlier, he remarked in a low, throaty voice that sent shivers up my spine, "It's like you're a part of me."

I felt lightheaded at the thought and immediately pulled my fingers from his crushing grip, trying to get a hold of myself. There was something so intense about that. And I couldn't silence the tiny part of me that cried out, "yes, you finally understand!" That same part also said it ought to feel like that. For a time, we two had been one, and it had been the best few, short, blissful moments of my adolescent life. Unbelievably, Tommy continued with even more glowing praise. "You're my inspiration, my raison d'être... I don't know what I'd do without you in my life," Tommy exclaimed fervently, panting a little. His skin was slightly sweaty. Seconds after saying that, he pressed his lips against my neck heatedly. There was a strange, almost delirious look in his clouded turquoise eyes. He wanted me to stay so badly that I felt it every time his flesh touched mine. He pulled back little by little as he sloppily kissed his way down my throat. "I'd probably lose my mind, go back to being that guy... that horrible guy I was before I met you. I don't want to be _that_ guy," He growled almost primally, one hand gliding down the silk of my dress, coming to rest comfortably on the small of my back, just at the base of my spine. His other hand traced my collarbone, waking up and setting alight the skin his fingers brushed oh-so casually.

He accidentally bit down on my neck, harder than he'd intended. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but it was hard enough to leave a rather nasty violet-colored bruise. I let out a hiss of pain, and suddenly, Tommy looked guilty, remorseful even. He was a flurry of soft kisses and soothing words, just light pecks all over my face, down my neck, across my shoulders. I smiled in spite of myself, letting him hold me in his arms. I felt safe there. His hands swept across my shoulders, down my back slightly. He pushed the dress aside when it suited him. One of his hands entangled itself in my hair, reveling in the messy silkenness of it. He wrapped his fingers gently around the lock of hair and used it to pull me closer. "I need _you_, Jude," He rasped desperately, hungrily, making me feel shiny and new and whole all over again. I felt my heart skip a beat. My breathing became erratic from desire. I tried to hide the way Tommy was affecting me, but he knew. He knew, and he delighted in the fact. He surprised me by swooping down with a kiss, half on my lips and half not. Then he pulled back abruptly, half smirking, victory glinting in his eyes. "You wouldn't leave me so _unsatisfied_, would you?" He murmured huskily, seductively, his breath warm against my cheek.

After he said that, I most surely could not. I couldn't say no to that tone of voice... It made my knees weak, and it was a wonder the thrilling tone of it didn't make me melt like chocolate in the sun. I couldn't decide whether he was talking about me leaving unsatisfied or me leaving _him_ unsatisfied. The one choice seemed ridiculously narcissistic, so I wouldn't have put it past Tom. Yet the other seemed almost sort of pleasant, being that it meant Tommy actually thought it his duty to make me happy. I cursed myself for thinking this, for when he spoke, all the thoughts flew out of my head, and I could only think of how close he was. How enticing his implied offer was, and how foolish I would be to refuse him? Besides, I thought, you don't really want to deny him anyways, do you? I answered my own question silently as my throat was becoming increasingly dry. No, I do not.

So I didn't refuse his affections. I was lucky enough to receive them in the first place, so why reject what I had long sought for, had craved so desperately and so fiercely? Why deny the desires of my own heart? I'd been bottling up and hiding my love for Tommy for ages; it seemed, letting it languish and strengthen in the dark recesses of my mind, my heart. Those long months had increased the potency to the point where it was so strong, so utterly delicious, and so rich an adoration that I salivated like one of Pavlov's hungry hounds at the scantest hint of a reciprocation. So long my fondness must be of a good vintage. It had fermented so long there in the obscurity that it had become more puissant than even I could resist, and now I could no longer keep my emotions pent up. If I wanted to drink, to finally indulge in my bizarre tenderness towards the man in question, then I **must** drink. I must devour the divine sweetness as if it were ambrosia; my gluttony unrivaled, and I must sip from the chalice until I am fully satiated. All this I knew.

Tommy was hungry, impatient with want. "_**Jude**_..." He beseeched me demandingly, on the cusp of desperation, craving an answer. His voice was strangely exasperated and strained, almost plaintive even. He sounded so utterly tortured. And just like that, all the resistance went out of me. I pressed my lips against his softly, suddenly, pulling back before he could deepen the kiss. I looked down, feeling ashamed for what I was about to do. I knew it wasn't right, tempting a man into committing a crime as I was. My moralistic, tormented mind rebelled against my heart and my body, but together they overcame it. My mind was fragmented, strange, on the verge of breaking under the strain. I knew it was a sin. Lust, adultery, premarital/extramarital sex, whatever umbrella you want to put it under. It didn't matter if I was committing a deadly sin or breaking a commandment. The force urging me on, a force that was wholly Tommy, was superhuman and above such things. It overcame me, or, more fittingly, _he_ overcame me. Capitulation of the worst sort was in my eyes. I could not meet his stare for long, though, so I looked at the floor like a slave who had been beaten into submission. I let go. I surrendered to him and his imperious demands. I gave him what he wanted. I nodded slightly, so slightly that it was nearly invisible to the eye. "As you wish," I replied calmly, walking past Tommy, heading back into the room from whence I'd fled earlier.

Mere moments after this, I fell back limply on Tommy's bed. I allowed him to kiss me on the mouth, and I opened my lips against his, letting him ravage my mouth. I tilted my neck back and let him plant a stream of kisses down my neck and over my shoulders. I permitted his hands to wander, to caress and heat my cool, icy skin. I moved back, adjusting to better accommodate him. I let him remove each article of clothing so slowly it tortured the both of us. I gave him leave to put his hands wherever he wished. And when I felt his weight come over me like a blanket, I bore it well, as if it was an honor. I sank effortlessly into the mattress, allowing him to press me into its softness. Then, hesitantly, I placed my soft hands on his skin, touching him for reassurance, feeling him. It was quiet, peaceful, not like either of the first two times. The only sounds that passed my lips were soft sighs. Tommy, on the contrary, contented himself in moaning as loudly as he could and making as many sounds as he could, perhaps to make up for my silence. I consented silently to anything he wished of me. I gave of myself freely and willingly.

Every time it happened... and there were many times after that... It was different, in some way. I learned so much from him that night. Not just about sex... about music, and that raw place where a song comes from. I felt like I was feeling things on completely new levels, to new intensities... Things I'd never felt or experienced before, ever, with anyone. I'd never been that happy, that utterly blissful, in my life. Those short hours were easily the most exhausting of my life. It must've been hours before we mutually decided that we'd finally had enough of each other. But I remember that too. I remember Tommy taking me in his arms and saying that he'd never done this before- how he'd never held a woman in his arms like this. He'd never understood what it meant, he said. In short, he'd had sex before (lots, obviously) but no intimacy. He never knew it could feel this good, he said. That it could be that good, as good as it was with us. It'd never been like this for him before, he said. He'd never curled up with someone like that so that he actually felt like part of them. He'd never felt so connected to someone, he said. He finally understood what the purpose of sex really was, he said, that it wasn't about the physical gratification but about this... the connection. The afterglow. He'd never had that.

I still remember how it felt. He was right about that- it was good, better than that, really. It felt like I'd been cold my entire life, living in anticipation of this very moment, so I could finally be warm. Being there, like that, almost convinced me completely that I'd never be cold, lonely, cast aside, and ignored ever again. Tommy promised something to that effect, but I don't remember. Tommy spoke softly, his fingers running through my hair, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. He was talking nonsense, but his words were the most soothing and calming I'd ever heard. His skin was so warm, but he was even warmer.

I was hopelessly in love with him then, and I almost let that slip, but I didn't. It would've been the perfect time to tell him what I'd secretly always known, but I stopped myself just short of saying it. I didn't want to say it if he wasn't going to say it back. Maybe he would've, if I'd said it then, for we were both weary and the exhaustion had loosened our lips. My tongue felt heavy and swollen in my mouth. I felt like I'd been drenched in honey lying there, mellow, warm, sweet, and sticky. Tommy's skin glistened golden in the light. He pressed a gentle kiss to my brow, making promises he knew he couldn't keep. Deep down I knew he had no intention of ever following through with a single one of those outlandish, forbidden promises he'd made me. Yet somehow I believed him anyways, and I held him fast to his word. He said a lot of things that night. But he never, ever, ever once said the only three words I wanted to hear.

I should've known that every word that came out of his mouth was a lie.

Tommy doesn't say things like that. He doesn't act like that. He's not soft like that. He's cold and hard, indestructible as a diamond. It's how he's survived so long. I had none of that hardness, for I had no need of it. In comparison, I had lived an almost charmed life. I wore my heart on my sleeve and walked around as open as can be, trusting and naïve. Waking up on the bed, eyes stinging from tears, head aching, I made a silent vow. I vowed to never be so open and so vulnerable again. To never trust so fully, so completely, and so blindly in someone ever again, least of all Tommy. He didn't deserve it. And I was sick of being that girl left devastated in his wake.

He had left me there, all alone, adrift on an ocean. I was fighting the current, kicking and splashing with all I had, but I kept... sinking. And then I was going under, succumbing to the irresistible forces around me, drowning... Dying and freezing before my feet even touched the ocean bed. Last night replayed in my mind, over and over, skipping and restarting again like a bad record. The vivid images blurred, separated, and then came together again in my mind. The memories plagued me, haunting me, making me come undone.

I was forsaken.

And, at that very moment, I felt every moment of my abandonment. The fierce, piercing pain of it closed down on my ribs, squeezing the breath out of me. Each agonizing moment felt like my last. Every second was painful; I felt like I was being toyed with, poked with knives that were then removed, only to come back again. The searing pain of it permeated all my senses until the pain was all I could feel; I forgot my identity, knowing only that I _was_ the pain. It hurt to breathe, and I hated to breathe. I literally wished Tommy could've killed me instantaneously; anything to escape the pain of living! I prayed desperately for the coup de grace I longed for, feeling that a quick death was better than a slow, painful one. But I knew it would not come. Tommy murdering me seemed like a better alternative. His letting me linger on in my miserable state of existence seemed to me the biggest sin of all.

Mercy was my dying wish. Mercy, I pleaded. Mercy. But I was not dying. I was living. Yet if this was living, then I wished to die. Death would've caused me less pain.

I suppose one could say that the full force of what had happened in the span of a day had just hit me. Call it shock; call it whatever you like. In reality, it was the fact that I had felt what it was to be loved by Tommy, all the while knowing he didn't, and then in the morning came his stubborn denial, subsequently cruel refusal, and finally, his subdued abandonment, his desertion. It was like I'd had a little slice of what I wanted, a few crumbs, and then the delicious cheesecake had been snatched away from me, my thieving hands slapped reproachfully. It was a betrayal of everything I had believed in, and I choked on all his lies, thick like smoke. The abandonment was the worst of all. But what had made it so was that I had known all of that would happen, and still I was unprepared and unhappy.

And then something in me rallied against the pain and drove me to my feet. I wanted desperately to write a song. I felt the words and the hurt bubbling up in me. My heart felt like it was being wrenched away from me. Painful step after painful step I took, all the way over to Tommy's closet. Somehow, instinctively, that's where I knew I would find what I needed. I opened the door with shaky fingers, and there they were, on the floor right in front of me. A pile of notebooks. There were well over twenty of them there. I suppose one could think of them almost as a set of journals representing his life. In his short life he'd done so many things others couldn't even dream of. The concept was mind-boggling to me. I picked up the top ten of them for some reason. I don't know why it was just those ten. I was curious as to what he was writing.

Maybe I just wanted to know a little more about him. I absentmindedly grabbed a pen from his desk, gracefully sitting down on the bed. I opened each journal slowly, fingers and eyes skimming over the words. And they were beautiful words, weren't they? Lovely poetic words, all written about love. About some girl who had Tommy all wound up. Some were depressing ballads, others were upbeat, some were angry, frustrated, fight-type of songs... a fair portion of them weren't even in English... and then there were the ones so passionate and raw that I trembled and remembered last night more fiercely than ever. Some were fantasies, others were more... introspective. There were many about guilt. About how wrong it was, whatever Tommy was feeling. But most of them were about wanting, about ferocious, pained longing... desire. Still, you could tell in every one of them that there was something holding him back from obtaining what he so desired.

They were all dated, too, and I'd seen him scribbling in them sometimes at work when he didn't think I was looking. That was a crock, though, because I was always watching Tommy. And then, with a start, when I was halfway through the journals, I realized, quite alarmingly, that they were all about me. I dropped the journals on the ground, needing to have them away from me. I couldn't think about the fact that Tommy had wanted me for so long. It just made the hurt grow stronger and more piercing, nearly overwhelming. I dropped all of them except for the last one, the one on top. It was half-full, which meant that Tommy was still filling it up. The most recent songs were dated yesterday, and he'd written at least ten, each one more glowing and adoring. They were all beautiful, the most sublime songs I'd seen of what he'd written. They were so beautiful they made me cry.

I started sobbing and flipped immediately to a new, blank page, away from all of Tommy's exquisite words. I leaned back against the hard, unyielding headboard, feeling cold despite the fact that I was fully clothed. Tommy had seen to my clothing but not to my warmth. This ruined dress seemed to have a funny way of coming off of me just as easily as I slid into it. I shivered, shuddering with the force of my wails, pulling the sheets around me. Then I remembered the song I'd begun to compose for Shay, who hadn't deserved it at all. I had never been his only one. Then I thought of Tommy, whom I had already songs about and for, and I thought that he did deserve the honor. After all, I lost my virginity to him, and didn't that mean something? I could never get it back, and I would never take it back. Even now, I didn't regret it, and that was the worst part of all. God, I love him desperately, so, so much more than I should. I remembered the way I'd toyed with and changed the lyrics last night... I heard the music playing in my head, and it was so beautiful that it only made the tears come harder. I started to write it down then, just the way the words had formed in my head. I wrote it in a messy, nearly unreadable cursive scrawl that was made even more illegible by the heavy tears that blotted the paper.

I knew that I would never be Tommy's twenty-one. I wouldn't even be his eighteen. Knowing all this, I looked at the words I'd written in my haste. They were about wanting to settle down and be wild all at the same time. Most of all, they were about growing up and what I thought it meant. About me trying to trust someone again, to believe in love again. The words of someone who'd been burned. Tommy had lied to me... even now. And it was partially his fault that I didn't trust. I couldn't trust after he'd ruined my faith. I'd made a mess of it just the same way he had. It also occurred to me that in a little way, it was about becoming mature, settling down, taking things slow. Yet not being afraid to take risks.

I had crashed into the sun last night... in a brilliant collision of light. The second verse brought back those little flashes, hints of last night. How we'd stumbled to the bed, when Tommy had me up against the wall, nipping at my lips like he couldn't get enough. It had been sweet, and I'd thrown my head back, welcomed his lips, and loved every last minute of it. Only Tommy hadn't stopped me, and I'd just as much pushed him there as he'd pushed me. I remembered his initial timidity, the way he'd been so courteous and concerned. He'd given me so many outs, but he had never tried to stop me the way either of us needed. I pushed him there; I threw him off that cliff. And I didn't regret it. I didn't regret that I'd ruined a good man, made him that which he hated. I'd done all that, and he still broke my heart.

That's how I know love lasts. My love for Tommy withstood all that, and I had no doubt that it would continue to stand the test of time. I laughed bitterly as the lurid images came to mind. I closed my eyes, picturing him, and it was almost like he was there. But he wasn't, so I opened my eyes and stopped pretending. It felt like nothing could wash away what had happened, that it was something that would stick to my skin like a stigma. Like a scarlet letter on my breast, that no one else would ever see, but he and I would always know was there, a shared guilt. It was no use not trying to wipe it away, clean myself up... to wash his scent off of me. I was never going to be his only one; a guy like Tommy doesn't have an only one.

But I would always be his way too young. And that was the problem.

So I dated it, tears still streaming down my face, and I threw the pen and the journal down on the floor with the others, still open. I collapsed back unto the bed face first, crying silently. My body was shaking and the pain that had numbed slightly was back with a vengeance. My heart throbbed painfully in my chest. My spent muscles burned and cried out. My stomach pleaded for food, growling at me and hungrily eating itself up, so violently I felt that I would throw up if I ate anything. I felt sick, like I was going to throw up. Sick, in pain, heartbroken, and, thus, completely miserable.

After an eternity of laying there, feeling wretched, the pain lessened just a little. My head throbbed, and I just barely managed to remove myself from the bed. I stumbled into the master bathroom almost blindly, clutching my head. I hadn't seen it before, but it was almost entirely fine, smooth white marble, smoked glass, and gleaming silver finishings. I ripped off my clothes disdainfully, hating that Tommy had dressed me right before leaving. I hated that he had placed those clothes on my body with such painstaking, almost loving care. I padded over to the shower, turning the water on abruptly with a mere flick of my wrist. I stood there underneath the water, waiting for it to get warm. I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering, hissing each breath. The water was cold, frigid against my skin... like Tommy had been when I came back to him this morning. I hated the way it felt, icy and wrong, frozen. Maybe, after the heated events of last night, maybe I needed a cold shower.

Eventually, however, the water did warm my skin again. I had always liked it hot. The water trickled down my skin pleasurably, heating it, making the chill vanish. I almost felt warm. Almost. The air grew thick, humid, and steamy around me. Water, sustainer of life, hydrating, healing, and rejuvenating. Sterilizing. The near-boiling water scalded my skin, trying to burn me like Tommy had. My skin went from flushed to deep red, but I relished the white-hot water on my flesh. This, at least, was a fire I could control, a burn of my own creation. The fiery punishment of the shower didn't ache half as much as the heart Tommy had beaten, broken, then branded for life and left bleeding.

I scrubbed myself with the same soap he'd used, a still-wet, overly pristine, white bar of Dove with faded lettering from use. Tommy had worn it down substantially. It seemed to me to be too white, so white that it reminded me of what I'd lost that night. I rubbed the soap all over my body then let the water rinse away the foam, so that I was clean. Then I did it again. I wondered if maybe he'd stood in this exact spot just like me and scrubbed his skin until it was red and raw. Just like I did then. But no matter how hard or how frequently I scrubbed, it was still there, under my skin. His presence overwhelmed me, and he wasn't even in the room. I carefully worked his shampoo into my hair with both fingers. It smelled like the ocean, or so I imagine, and it was cerulean like Tommy's eyes.

I shaved with his razor, too, and it hurt as the water beat down on me. I imagined how it must feel against his cheek. I wondered if he accidentally cut himself as much as I had in that shower. And after I was done, and all of the soap had washed off, I just stood there under the water, letting it scald me. I let it hit me like a scolding nun, as a penance for the foolish thing I'd done. But no matter how hot it was or how hard it hit my skin, it didn't make me forget it. And it didn't stop me from wanting to do it again. I tried not to wish the shower's rain was his touch, his embrace... I tried not to remember the path his skilled hands had blazed across my skin or the sensations I had felt. I tried not to long for his calloused hands as I did, to miss his slender fingers. I tried not to remember how he felt, which was better and even warmer than the water.

But I did. I thought of it endlessly even though I told myself not to, _especially_ because I told myself not to. My headache worsened under the strain of trying to avoid it, to push those foolish thoughts away. I dug my nails deep into my arms, but I did not cry out from the pain. I scrubbed my skin nearly raw, feeling like I was itching on the inside... just _**dying**_ for that one, little scratch. I missed his taste, sweet like honey, tart, yet still bitter. I attempted to remove him, to erase the memories of him so that I could forget him entirely, to scrape every last bit of him out from under my skin. I knew that was impossible, but I had to at least try it. I couldn't do it, though. The mashed up bits of Tommy and me couldn't be separated. They refused. I hated that he was right about that, that some small parts of him remained in me, no matter how hard I tried to scrub them away.

My skin was no longer sticky. The dark blood had been washed away. I was technically clean now; the soap bar had seen to that... but I still felt dirty all over. I felt unclean, sullied, devirginized, newly sensitive to the world, and strangely self-aware. I still wasn't wholly comfortable in my own skin, but I was less unsure than I was before. My hips had a new sway to them as I stepped out of the shower, turning off the water as I exited. That bath was a rebirth for me. I entered the water a tired, broken girl, and I left the water much the same, only strengthened somehow. The leftover water beaded into dewy droplets on my shoulders, arms, and legs, and occasionally the droplets would swell to such a size that they cascaded down. I meticulously, methodically wiped away every spare drop of water, taking care to dry my skin completely. I combed my fingers through my hair, drying and curling the ruby-red strands slowly, naturally.

Then I sought out his cologne and sprayed myself with it. Because I couldn't wholly part myself from the idea that I wouldn't smell like him anymore now that his sweat and semen weren't clinging to my skin. I damn near doused myself in that cologne, so that I could always keep his smell with me. I reeked of it, and I couldn't have been more proud. In some small way, I wanted to make what we'd done obvious. To leave little clues for him to know and others to ponder about. In a perverse way, I wanted the whole world to know about our tawdry little tryst. I smelled more like Tommy than Tommy usually did, which was saying something, as I could nearly always smell him across a room, sometimes even before I saw him. It was a nice, pleasant, spicy scent, though. Kind of exotic, like a musk, utterly intoxicating and even arousing.

I bit down hard on my lip, looking at myself in the mirror. Damn. I wanted Tommy again.

The minute I stepped out of the steam, every muscle I possessed throbbed as if seized by spasms. I felt as if I had pulled each and every muscle from the bone, stretched them beyond their means; I hadn't even known I'd possessed so many! I made quick work of pulling my clothes on hastily, roughly, without regard to my own feelings. Anything was better than thinking Tommy's fingers had lingered. Body crying out in protest, I picked up the crystal glass on his sink and filled it halfway with water. I scavenged rapaciously through his medicine cabinet for pills for my pains and headaches, and when I found them, I drank them with the water. Yet the pain did not lessen. I replaced the things I'd disturbed, so consumed was I with keeping Tommy's things in their proper order. I still felt as if I had no right to even be here, touching his things. His things were not my things. I wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place, but Tommy just had to insist, didn't he?

I felt suddenly so bitter at him. He had known all along that this would happen. I'd only been in denial about it. He took me back here specifically for that reason. I kept telling myself no, no, no... I didn't want to believe it. But he could've stopped it. He wasn't that drunk, really, and he'd been so insistent before. So why not then? I took a long, hard look at myself, this girl in the mirror, and I didn't like who I saw. I was dumb enough to fall for Tommy's unwitting, "I'll make it better" attitude. Like he even could, I scoffed. Shay had made a mess of things, and it certainly wasn't Tommy's to clear up. What Tommy did was even worse. He led me on, kissed me, brought me to the brink... and then he pushed me away, ignored me, and made me deny it ever happened. I was nothing better than a notch on his bedpost now, and I meant nothing more to him than that. I was an idiot to trust him in the first place. And just like that, I hated him with every aching, weary, depressed fiber of my being. I wanted vengeance more than anything. I thirsted for his pain, his blood to be shed in my name!

In other words, I wanted an exact reversal of what he'd done to me. I was going to make him hurt. I would hold him up to the light and make him burn with shame for what he had done. He had known better, for he was not an adolescent anymore. He certainly had no excuse to act like one. I glared witheringly at my reflection in the mirror, sneering at it, taunting myself into action. And in an instant, I snatched up that fine crystal glass, and I threw it as hard as I could against the wall. More precisely, I threw it right into the center of the mirror. It exploded into a shower of glass on impact. That girl, my supposed reflection, shattered into a million pieces before my eyes. The glass crashed to the floor, flying in the air. One or two of the shards might've cut me, but I didn't notice then. The pain and shame had finally ebbed away and, for once, were far away from the forefront of my mind.

I smiled then; a sick, wicked smile, but a smile nonetheless. And then I let out one sharp, hard laugh, whirled around, and left. I perfunctorily stabbed the earrings back in my ears, tangling my necklace in my haste to get it to lie flat on my neck once again. I shoved my feet into the high-heeled golden sandals I had so adored, liking the way they fit and the confidence those few inches brought me. I rose to my full height, my spine fully erect, posture as straight as can be. And I was not myself. I placed a hand on my hip sassily, thrusting out my hip, suddenly aware of this strange new power I had. I felt it coursing through my veins almost like an electrical current, pulsing. I breathed in; I breathed out. I strutted like a model, grinning seductively, holding myself up like the queen I wasn't. I was in control now.

A plan half-forming in my mind, I seized my trenchcoat, wrapping it around myself. On second thought, I grabbed the pen and notebook I'd written in, as I had the burning desire to get to the studio and show Tommy just what he was missing. I closed the notebook and clutched it to my chest protectively, feeling like I'd taken a piece of him with me. I had, too. A piece of his soul, intimately more personal than what he'd taken from me last night. Sex meant nothing to Tommy, no, he'd been satiated and surfeited by it more than enough for it to still be something special, something magical... But music... music meant everything to him.

Then I found Tommy's credit card and the keycard to his room on his dresser, and I snatched them immediately. The credit card I fully intended to return, but the keycard I would keep as a souvenir. I smirked at the card, thinking that it meant I always had a way to come back and haunt him if I wanted. Such an item would be awfully useful in any future affairs. I left the bed unmade; let the maid see what sins Tommy hath committed! I couldn't _tell_ anyone, but I could leave his sin out in the open so that it was the first thing the maid saw. And a maid wouldn't know who'd lain in that bed with him. And she wouldn't judge me or say anything. I wanted, no, I needed, someone else to feel one tenth of the disdain I felt for Tommy and his vices.

I walked out of Tommy's room with my head held high, quietly shutting the door behind me. It was mid to late afternoon by that point, and remarkably few people were lurking around in the hallway. I sashayed down the length of the hall, heels sinking into the carpet a little. I stopped just short of the spacious elevator, deliberately leaning forward and pressing the button. It opened almost immediately, and, after glancing to see if it was empty, I slipped inside and pressed the lobby button. My hair was still damp, curling attractively in the air. The elevator doors opened, and I strode out boldly, not looking at anyone in the lobby. I ignored them all and left through the front door as if nothing had happened.

But something had. Or rather, someone. Tommy had happened, and I wouldn't _ever_ be the same again.

- Loren ;

Reviews would be highly appreciated, if you could spare the time. Long reviews are even more appreciated. If not, then that's all right. I understand. Thanks for taking the time to read this either way. Every writer likes to be heard.


	4. Layla

Thanks for all of the absolutely wonderful reviews. They really mean a lot to me, and always manage to cheer me up at just the right time. Big thanks goes out to Six, as usual, for putting up with my insane-ness. I'm lousy with questions, aren't I? Lol, I so tweaked a sentence for you. You'll recognize it, I'm sure. ;)

Anyways, This chapter just kind of went by like a breeze for me. It's addictive, really, writing this story. Although it's kind of a bad thing, too, since it made me put off on Consequences. And there wound up being a whole lot less Shay and a lot more Tommy. Plus Tommy gets a little weird at the end, which I wasn't expecting... but it's late and I want to sleep, so I'm going to cut this short.

I do not own Instant Star, although I would love to because then I could get an advance peek at all of the wonderful songs they use. I also don't own any of the mentioned allusions.

I hope you enjoy the chapter. Remember, reviews are like diamonds to me. Shiny and pretty and I'd wear them if I could. Think 'bout it. ;)

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You were sitting at the soundboard as you always did, editing tracks you'd put off for some of the other bands you were producing. It was amazing how quickly Jude had become your first priority, but she was. You didn't normally hate mixing, but you did today. It was a boring, mindnumbing task, but it kept your mind off Jude. And that was what you needed... to forget about Jude. But you couldn't quite do that, no matter how much you wanted to. That was the whole problem in the first place. So there you sat, hunched over the soundboard, mindlessly pressing buttons and flipping switches like a monkey. The horrible sounds resounded in your head, echoing again and again, cacophony mounting. It was slowly driving you insane. You grew sick of the music, tired of editing it to perfection.

Perfection was overrated anyways. Your whole life was a quest for perfection, and, really, what was the point of that? You could never achieve perfection, so why bother even attempting it? Everything you'd worked for all seemed so empty... so meaningless. Perfection wasn't always perfect. It wasn't worth all the effort. And, still, Jude wasn't leaving your mind. Not like you needed her to. Like the real woman, the images of her hung in your head, lingering long after you wished them gone. You thought them gone too, but every time you thought you were through with these flashes of Jude, they came back with a vengeance. You couldn't escape her. Like the real thing, the visions of her fought for their rightful place in your head. Somehow, she'd clawed her way into your heart and mind. You were constantly plagued by soft, tender, sickeningly adoring thoughts of her, and you were always wondering... wondering, wondering, wondering... It was driving you mad. You couldn't live like this! You couldn't do it anymore. So you slammed your fingers down on the soundboard, frustrated with yourself, and you stormed out into the hall.

Maybe what you needed was a break. A chance to breathe and get some air. You needed a chance to catch up with what had happened, to accept it, make your peace with it, and bury it alive so that you could forget.

You needed desperately to forget, but something or someone always seemed determined to prevent you from doing that very thing you so longed and so needed to do.

And there she was, standing in the lobby, looking like a vision. Your breath caught in your throat against your will. She was still so beautiful. She was most definitely not dressed like _that_ when you'd left her. You frowned at the unhappy thought, hating that you'd been able to leave her. You had not wanted to do it, but, you steeled yourself, it was the right thing to do. It was. Even if it felt wrong.

Speaking of the way she was dressed... That reminded you of the peculiar circumstances in which she'd been redressed. And undressed, but those thoughts must be locked away. It was so much easier if you didn't remember, yet the brief flashes of memory tormented you. You remembered guiding her into every garment, pulling the fabric up slowly, fastening necklaces and her bra, slipping the dress and the shoes over her smooth, soft skin. You remembered the creamy, milky white, pure skin all too well. It was just as soft as it looked. Just thinking about the way she'd felt made your fingers itch to touch her again.

You were entirely sure you'd dressed her in that green silk dress. Yet there she stood, in a pastel ensemble. The color flattered her the same way it had last night. You remembered how flushed her cheeks were afterwards... They were nearly the same color as her outfit. Jude wasn't even looking at you, though. In fact, she happened to be talking to her ex-boyfriend, Shay. How hadn't you noticed that before?

Oh, yes... You'd been too wrapped up in her beauty to be aware of your surroundings. You grumbled at the thought of her conversing with Shay. He wasn't worth her breath. Why should something so precious as air, or even carbon dioxide, be wasted on one as undeserving as him? He didn't even deserve one minute of her time. But, you thought darkly, it sure seemed as if he was getting more than that. Why, you questioned yourself, anguished. What had he done to ingratiate himself to her now? Shay had done that once, but you wouldn't allow it again. He'd really done it this time. He'd broken her heart, left her for her rival, and devastated her on what should've been one of the happiest days of her life! He didn't deserve a second chance!

And, above all, he did not deserve Jude.

Your own feelings towards Jude notwithstanding, of course. It wasn't like you exactly deserved her affections either, but apparently Jude frequently rewarded undeserving people with her affections. This time you were going to step in and resume your natural, instinctive role as her protector. You were the one that _cared_. You were the one that loved her. Not that petty, foolish, ignorant boy who been idiotic enough to give Jude up for some third-rate wannabe pop princess. Not that you were much better.

In some respects, you were far worse... old man. Now Shay-Shay was mocking you in your head. You hated to say that you were jealous of him. Jude was an option for him. Never for you. But Shay could be contented to have her if he wished because his cheating ass was "age-appropriate". Never had you loathed the boy more than this very moment. You probably looked very childish, not unlike yourself at Jude's age, pouting and sneering for the cameras, hating the world. It wasn't fair, damn it! It wasn't... fair. Then again, when had life ever been just to you? But you were jealous of Shay, and you felt utterly ridiculous for it.

Jude had always brought out the teenager in you, though, hadn't she?

Like when you'd first met her, and she had insulted you, brought up your much-loathed past... Pushed that one button everyone else knew not to press. You had lashed out of her forcibly, criticized her harder than you would've had she not made such a comment. You were generally nicer to first-time artists, friendly, even downright congenial. You would've normally been gentle and soft with one as young as her. Not that you weren't a blunt, brutally honest man. It was your way of tricking the artist, of making them idolize you, admire you, think you nicer than you really were. You put them at ease and then brought on your wrath, lulling them into a false sense of confidence.

It was best not to overwhelm new artists at the beginning. Jude had shot all of this to hell with her off-hand, insulting comment. You didn't even know why it had bothered you so. You'd heard worse from people more intimidating and important than her before. Yet you'd hid behind that pillar like some sort of coward or stalker, listening to her and letting her call you lame and pop and overrated and not a professional. Why had you done that? It wasn't like you to allow such defamation of your character. Well, unwarranted defamation, anyways. You were always clear with your artists about that, even firm, and you set out quickly to prove that you were not who they thought you were. You'd spent your whole life trying to be considered as a serious artist, and now it was just a fight to be considered as anything more than the butt of a joke. You hated it when she used that hated moniker, the one you'd disdained from the beginning, when Darius had christened you that as a joke, considering how rail-thin you'd been. You were not little anymore; had you ever been? You were a fully grown adult, and even before that, you'd learned how to survive on the streets. You were not merely something _cute_ to look at, but a real person with real feelings and a real life.

Contrary to popular belief, the Q in your nickname did not come from your last name. That was a convenient coincidence. It came from Little Tommy Cute. And you were certainly not cute now; you hadn't been then... a skinny street rat. But then Darius had cleaned you up and no one thought you were the one he'd picked up on one of the worst streets in Scarborough because you'd been so damn determined to survive that you risked your life robbing the man. You hadn't eaten anything for over a week; few people with money ever came to your neighborhood, so begging was out of the question.

The memories of that time for you were not pleasant ones, so you found it all too easy to banish them in favor of happy thoughts about Jude. Happier thoughts, anyways. You would've worked her to death that first day had not her friend intervened. You'd lost your typical professional courtesy, the code of coolness you lived by. Even then she'd made you feel things you did not wish to feel. Within mere moments, she had awakened the tiger lurking in your heart, the snappy, hungry savage. That ball of negative energy, rage, and hatred that you had worked so hard to suppress. Yet she'd brought it to the surface upon your first meeting.

In that respect, at least, she was a remarkable girl. Doubtless she was a remarkable girl in other ways, several of them very improper for you to know... But she could sing beautifully, and not just words. You remembered her cries last night, this morning... Oh, how the wretched, wonderful hours blurred! She had been so musical; so different from anyone else in that particular respect, and, of course, many others. Jude had sang for you whole operettas, arias, entire scales, climbing octave after octave, voice getting increasingly breathless as she continued, note after note coming faster and faster, finally crescendoing into an explosive climax. And you had loved every moment of it, even those when she had been completely silent, savoring the moment, holding on to you for all she was worth. Then you had been the loud one, the vocal one, utterly unashamed to show your pleasure.

You forced the dangerous thoughts from your mind, thoughts that insisted that you weren't quite so drunk- Thoughts that insinuated that you were well on your way to remembering everything, or perhaps that you'd never forgotten in the first place... Glancing at Jude and Shay (or rather, in Shay's case, glaring), you pondered grimly whether she was making the mistake of getting back with him. You had thought they were over for good. Besides, she certainly had acted like it last night. She couldn't be so stupid to enter into a relationship with the philandering loser again- could she? You hoped not; oh, God, you hoped it was not so!

However, then a thought briefly occurred to you... You had knowledge of Jude that you knew Shay did not possess, thus the reason for his wandering ways. From Jude's own lips she had affirmed that _you_, not Shay and not Jamie, were her first. She had been waiting for _you_, which came to you as no surprise, oddly enough, as she fit so perfectly... It was almost as if you were made for her or she for you. You had never believed in such peculiar creation; it seemed an odd craft, and you had lost your faith a long time ago. Jude only seemed to reinforce such foolish thoughts in you. Yes, you knew far more about Jude than Shay ever would. You had carnal knowledge of her. You had _known_ her, in the strictly Biblical sense, repeatedly. You knew what sent her over the edge, and you knew how to make her stay. You knew how to have her whimpering your name, and you knew all too well how to make her love you. It came naturally, unfortunately enough. And somewhere, deep down inside where you secretly admitted that you truly remembered everything about how last night/this morning had unfolded, that you had memorized every detail, you had compiled all of this, committing it to memory in the fain hope that it would be useful in the future.

Maybe it would... If you made love to Jude in the future.

However, unfortunately for yourself, such an occurrence was impossible at best, doomed at worst. And you were to be stuck with those accursed memories of your sin until the end of your days! But they were brief visions, glimpses from within, not above, of your concealed wickedness. Your secret shame. Oh, how you wished to confess, to no longer keep all these buried feelings all pent up inside. You felt like a caged bird. Yet you couldn't say a word and risk jeopardizing yourself or Jude. You knew you words would be ill-received by anyone, priest, confidante, or God! No one could sanction or justify such an immoral, condemnable, degenerate action. Not even you.

Still, you hated how civilly she was speaking with the man that had so cruelly broken her heart. She was acting like last night hadn't happened, only it had. You hated knowing that you were responsible for that, that you were the one who had made her deny it, lie about it, keep it secret. You hated yourself for what you did to her, yet you knew you could do nothing else. There wasn't anything else you could do that would still be right, legal... Decent. Then again, if hurting her was decent, what was indecent? Was being with someone who loved you indecent, illegal? Yes, it was, in your case. She was so mature, much more mature than you had been. About last night, about Shay, about everything. There she was, talking to him, when all you wanted was to tear him apart.

And a small part of you thought that maybe she'd give Shay another chance. She'd given you another chance, and you'd still managed to muck it all up. Maybe she would sleep with him too, since you'd saved her from the foolish notion that sex meant anything. But it had to you. It **had** meant something, something you couldn't quite put into words. You weren't that eloquent, and maybe there weren't words for how you felt. All you knew was that you cared about her, far too much and far too strangely for you ever to explain. And seeing her with other men made you very angry. You weren't in love with her. But still, why did it bother you so? Your greatest fear was that she'd have sex with Shay now that you had loosened her up. And you didn't want her to do that.

She was wearing a dress that you could not get out of your head if you tried. It was as if it was painted on her skin, so well did it emphasis her slender figure and slight curves. You attempted to look away from the form-fitting fabric that clung to her skin, but it was as if your eyes were fixed, glued to the spectacle she made. Few redheads would've donned such vibrant, memorable clothing. But Jude wanted to be noticed, to be admired, to let the world know that she had changed in some small way. This change, whatever it was that had come over her (you liked to think you had something to do with it), was not small. She looked like a whole new woman, a whole different girl than the one you thought you knew so well.

The dress was short, but not indecently so, merely short enough that it showed off a tantalizing view of her long, long legs. It allowed you more than a glimpse at her creamy lower thighs. The straps were thick, creamy, and falling off of her shoulders, slowly inching down the middle of her arm. It revealed a wide expanse of soft skin. The neckline was low-cut but not overly revealing. However, the décolletage was tempting enough, providing an ample view of cleavage you would've never known she had. Only, of course, you would. It was, to say the least, a bold and cold choice for winter. Jude never showed this much skin, and you had never seen her in anything so tight, even when she'd been posing for the Solid cover. You almost groaned at the memory. The rock and roll schoolgirl look was just a bit too sexpot for Jude. Didn't schoolgirls always have that effect on men? She wasn't Britney Spears, though, and Jude surely hadn't needed that sort of exposure.

Nor had she needed the way you kept staring at her. It had been seven in the morning... a bit too early for you to be so excited. You had wanted to do such awful, _naughty_, **wrong** things to her. After all, you'd never had the pleasure of being enrolled in high school, and you had always wanted to take a girl under the bleachers, or in a bathroom stall... Or pressed up against the lockers. To take her in a deserted classroom right on top of the teacher's fine, hard wooden desk. Or in the steamy locker room, hotblooded and sweaty, preparing for a shower. Even dirty boys need to get clean. Or in the janitor's closet or... You had clearly fantasized about her far too much for your own sanity. But why not? Jude as the student, you playing the teacher. It would've been perfect. But such an affair was just as forbidden and just as illegal- for the same reasons- as the reality of your tangled, twisted relationship with Jude.

The dress was all wrong, of course. For the time of year and for Jude. It was a pastel, and Jude did not wear pale colors. She tended towards darks and vibrant colors that would complement her vivid hair and pale skin. You could almost her your ex-wife commenting snidely that no one wore that tint in winter and that the pastel pink dress clashed with her fiery red hair. It was a summer color, one that hinted at languid, balmy days of sunlight, humidity, and exotic, tropical flowers. It was a strange darkish pink color that you only remembered seeing on a crayon when you had been much younger. It had been called orchid, you recalled, and some girl had taken it right out of your hand and had used it to color the princess' dress. But it was also a light, pale pink, delicate like she was, but strong. As paradoxical as that makes it sound, the truth of the matter was that it was a sullied pink. So Jude became a sullied orchid, the shame of your deed tainting her petals, her skin, her hair.

It was an utterly virginal hue that Jude had absolutely no right to wear, and it made you enraged at her audacity. She was not a virgin anymore; you had seen to that. So she had no right to go around pretending she was still that innocent, untouched maiden that she most certainly wasn't. Again and again you had spilled your seed into her, entered her, touched her, kissed those lips, that skin... Insuring that she would be no virginal bride, that there would be no white wedding. You'd made her just as impure and unchaste as you, guilt by association. You had not done that for her to act as if it had never happened. To be all prim and proper as she seemed, completely put together in pastels while you were falling apart at the seams. You'd lost your way and found Jude, and you sometimes wondered if the trade-off had truly been worth it.

Her nails were painted, both fingers and toes, you noted idly, watching her animated hand gestures. She was making small-talk with the bastard like everything was just a-okay. You hated that you were so afraid of her that you refused to go over and end the madness, save her from a relapse of Shay. Her nails were painted a brilliant ruby red, a shade that was the opposite of her dress. You imagined those blood red scratching down your back, digging in and making you bleed, making you suffer for your sins. You wouldn't mind such a punishment, you reflected lasciviously. No, you wouldn't mind it one bit.

Like the nail polish, her heels contrasted with the dress' virginal insinuations. The dress itself contrasted with that image, as it was made of sinuous, skin-tight satin. The fabric was so thin that you were surprised you couldn't make out the lines of her undergarments from a distance. It surely hugged every curve and rode up slightly with each step. The sleeves kept falling down, over her arms, so that she was continually adjusting them, a slight flush on her cheeks. You wondered if the fabric was as impossibly soft, impossibly smooth, and impossibly flawless as her skin. You decided momentarily, staring at her with dark, hungry, obsessed eyes, drinking her in like the espresso you loved so well, that no, it wasn't. That would be impossible.

She wore tall, high-heeled matching pumps. Like the rest of her ensemble, they were impractical and utterly inappropriate. But the dress she'd worn last night had been equally inappropriate for the season, and at least this time it wasn't raining. The pumps were candy pink and open-toed, completely provocative. To be blunt, the shoes screamed "do me". And you really wouldn't mind, if there wasn't the annoying threat of jail time hovering over your head. You didn't know shoes, but you knew from a glance that the ones she was wearing were designer. The shoes made her several inches taller, and from a distance, you calculated that you wouldn't have to stoop to kiss her now.

Not that you would be kissing her any.

The bodice of the dress hugged the curves of her breasts beguilingly. Since the straps of her dress were continually tumbling down the smooth flesh of her shoulders, no matter how much she adjusted it, you could see her bra straps (and sometimes more, if the sleeves slipped a little too far) very clearly, even with the distance. Her bra was entirely red lace, and you would've bet money that it was part of a set. And, had you looked under her skirt, you would've expected to find a matching pair of lacy, skimpy panties. Ah, the joys of Victoria's Secret. It was always a secret you wanted to uncover, especially in this case. Even though you'd already seen all of what was beneath the clothes, you wanted to see more. You wanted to see everything all over again in broad daylight.

The other thing that showed that completely ruined the virginal image were the love bites down her neck, across her collarbone, just above her breasts. No matter how much she covered them with make-up to make them disappear, they were slightly pink and stood out against her flat skin painfully, like welts. It was like you were witnessing the effects of your kisses. You thought the bruises beautiful because they had been crafted by your lips and some emotion beyond care and lust that you couldn't quite place... something strange and wondrous and new to you. You had done that to her, and you were proud of your creation. Those would last for some time far longer than the night itself had. But the memories of that night would never go away, even if you married, had children, got old, and died. You knew that your dying breaths, that your last thoughts would be of that night and of Jude. No matter what the future brought. Last night was your biggest mistake and your biggest regret. Sometimes you thought you'd undo it if you could, but you know deep down that you wouldn't. You wouldn't take it back by any means. Because it was one of very few times in your life that you ever remembered being delirious with happiness. That made it worth it as wrong and illegal and dangerous as it was.

You had lied to Jude when you'd told her you wouldn't sleep with her again. You wanted to the very moment after you stopped, and you hadn't stopped wanting it. If you went to jail now for what you'd done, which you thought you deserved anyways, it would be worth it. You were a sick bastard, and she was a minor under your influence. She could never take back what she'd lost last night. She could wear the white dress at her wedding, but it would be a lie. You wondered if she regretted it; she had far better reasons than you. She'd lost her virginity and her innocence. You'd lost your respectability and the ability to hold your head up high, and consequently, you'd lost all the self-respect you had ever possessed.

You were rumpled, wrinkled, and flustered, dark circles under your eyes, and an unhealthy thinness to your cheeks. In short, you looked ill, absolutely dreadful. It was only fitting, for that was how you felt. The guilt did that to you; it wasted you like tuberculosis. Jude, on the contrary, looked perfect, absolutely unruffled. Unaffected. Affected, that was really all you were. Where she seemed strengthened, healthy, and emboldened... You seemed enervated, unwell, and made mute by the unspeakable sins you had committed. You seemed a coward compared to her because you could not face her, yet she had come here to see you, to speak with you.

She looked so different from last night, yet she looked so very similar. So similar, in fact, that it would've broken your heart... had you possessed one. Her face was the same, but the make-up was different. Her eyes were dark, smoky around the edges, as they usually were. Her mouth was round, full, and looking ever so kissable. Her lips were a shocking, glossy, almost tawdry smear of red. Her lips were pouty and swollen from your kisses last night, and you wanted nothing more than to take her in your arms and ruin that lipstick she'd carefully applied. Her cheeks weren't rosy now but pale instead, as marble, ivory, or alabaster. For the first time since you'd known her, her hair was curly. Her gleaming strawberry locks, which had always been flat-iron straight, were now wild, free, unrestrained... Her hair almost naturally formed beautiful, shiny ringlets.

Why had Jude come here? It wasn't to see Shay because she hadn't known he would be here. Even you hadn't known he would still be here, and considering your near showdown with the boy last night, it was a rather unpleasant surprise. In fact, when you first saw him there, lounging in the lobby, popping Ju-Jus, you had to resist the urge to show him what life was **really** like on the streets. You hated him that much now, because of the whole Jude thing. And Jude was the reason you were standing stock still behind a pillar, clenching your fists, eyes green with envy. You were jealous of the easy way she spoke with him, like she'd been utterly unaffected by his betrayal. Maybe it would be different when she saw you. Maybe that was why she was here.

You thought you'd said everything that needed to be said back at your suite earlier, but maybe you thought wrong. You went over it in your head, going over everything you had said. You'd given her no illusions. You'd told her that it could never happen again, that you didn't love her. You'd gotten her word that she would keep it a secret, but would she really keep it a secret... to her grave? Then again, you'd desperately checked your entire hotel room, and you hadn't found any open condom wrappers... so it was very possible that your dirty little secret wouldn't remain secret for long. That it could be the kind of secret that everyone would find out about in a few months, and how would that look? You were worried about this, but Jude had just dumped Shay, so you would be off the hook for that, and no one had any reason to suspect you. Except for the fact that it was you, and she'd never slept with Shay. Plus, if it happened, everyone would start asking questions when the baby came out, not looking a thing like Shay.

But that wouldn't happen, would it? You took a deep breath, pushing down the doubts, not allowing yourself to think of the possible consequences of your dirty deed beyond the obvious, breaking Jude's heart. You had said what she needed to hear, yes, what you had needed to say. But you hadn't said what you knew she wanted to hear. And the guilt of that was literally killing you, but you couldn't make yourself feel things you didn't. You knew then that you had to face her sometime, and what better time than now when you wouldn't have to be alone with her? So you found yourself slowly walking towards her, step by step, one at a time. Your feet, however, were unwilling, and your body tired and aching with each step.

When Jude turned and saw you coming towards her, she stopped talking to Shay in mid-sentence. She smiled at you welcomingly, and you started to wonder if maybe you'd just imagined all that had happened last night. Maybe it had all been one incredibly lucid, incredibly vivid dream. But the prospect that it had all only happened in your head was all too unrealistic. You couldn't believe that last night and this morning had been only in your imagination. It was too painful and too real for that. Then Jude did something else that surprised you. She met you halfway and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a close, warm embrace. Actually, she pulled you a little too close; she pressed herself against you, so that you could feel every bit of her against your skin. Only a few thin layers of fabric were separating you.

The feeling took you back to this morning, and the way it had felt when she was in your arms. That felt too good to be fake. So as much as you wished it hadn't happened, that you'd dreamed the whole wonderful night and morning... You knew you hadn't. It felt exactly the same, holding her, wrapping your arms low around her waist. She was so soft and so warm... and if you closed your eyes, you could let yourself get completely lost in her. She rested her head against your neck, burying her nose in the crook of your neck so that you could feel her breath on your bare skin. Your shirt was halfway unbuttoned and too thin for your own good. She sighed blissfully, as if she'd forgotten all you'd done to her, and lazily ran a hand over the fabric, feeling your taut muscles.

As she did this, you exhaled sharply, and you felt Jude smile against your skin. She was pleased at the effect she knew she had on you. You had clearly forgotten yourself, let down your guard just a little too much. You couldn't let her affect you like this. But as much as you wanted to pull away, you couldn't. You didn't want to do that either. Suddenly, her pressing against you like this became all too cruel, since you couldn't do a thing about it. You had to bite back on your bottom lip to stop yourself from doing anything, but damn it if she wasn't pressing against you wantonly, inappropriately... in public. Jude trailed her arms down, around your waist, clutching you closer, so that her nails dug into your skin. If it was possible, she was even closer than she was before. She lifted her head off your shoulder, pulling back slightly so that she could look you in the eyes. She smiled beatifically. "It's good to see you again, Tom," She replied softly, in a voice just a shade lower than it usually was.

You were a little worried about what Shay would think, and what exactly she had meant with that comment. You and Jude had been embracing for far too long. But her eyes were soft, a clear shade of blue, and they indicated that she had missed you very much. And as much as you wanted to, you still found it impossible to deny her of anything she wanted. She couldn't have you, so it would just be cruel to deny her of this small, relatively innocent pleasure. Eventually, though, you knew you would have to pull away. So you closed your eyes for a few moments, hugging her to you so hard that she had trouble breathing. You needed to feel her, to know that she was real. That somehow she didn't hate you like she should. You let yourself get lost in the intoxicating sensation of being close to her.

You buried your nose in her soft, fragrant hair, which smelled like the ocean and exactly like your own hair. You smelled her, and she smelled like she'd bathed in your cologne, the very same cologne which you forgot to put on this morning. You liked that she had your scent all over her, even if it wasn't a common smell, and it was obviously a male aroma that could very easily be linked back to you. She was flaunting it, the fact that she had been in your bed for the night, that you'd left her all alone to her own devices in your hotel room. Yet you wanted her to flaunt it, and a sick part of you wanted the whole world to know what you'd done. You did deserve it, after all, even if Jude didn't deserve the shame of being connected with you. You had missed Jude too, even if you'd only been away from her a few hours. You drew in a breath deeply, relaxing slightly, smiling to yourself for an all too brief moment. Then you loosened your hold on Jude, opening your eyes, sighing sadly, and releasing her.

Jude smiled understandingly and for a moment, you thought she was just going to go back over to Shay. Then she surprised you yet again by swooping down and suddenly planting a kiss on your cheek that you knew would leave lipstick on your face. Just as quickly, however, she tore her lips from your cheek, flashing a beguiling grin at you before sashaying over to Shay. You shook yourself out of the daze and followed Jude over to Shay, preparing to step in when necessary. The smile dropped right off of Shay's face when he saw you. You smiled back, faking cordiality as best you could, and only just attempted to wipe the lipstick off your face. You were a bit smug, but that was to be expected. Jude had clearly chosen you over Shay, and it was about damn time.

You looked expectantly at Jude, wanting to know just what she and Shay had been discussing. Jude smiled politely and turned to you to explain. "Shay and I were discussing his album. You did a great job with it, Tommy... There's some serious buzz that he could get a Grammy nod next year. You too, Tommy. Word is that you're going to be up for Producer of the Year next year, since Shay's album was released too late to qualify for this year. Isn't that great?" Jude said calmly, looking genuinely excited for you, the both of you. You nodded back, even though you didn't want to win a Grammy for Shay's lousy album. You wanted to win one with Jude. You wanted her to be up there on the stage with you by your side, and you wanted her to thank you first in her acceptance speech. But above all, you wanted the album to be good enough to win awards, and Jude definitely had the potential.

Then Jude's eyes narrowed, diverting their focus back to Shay. You could sense the anger in her, and it made you wary. Luckily for you, however, the brunt of her rage was directed towards Shay. She placed her hands on her hips firmly, glowering at him. "Then Shay started talking about the tour, which inevitably led to a discussion of Eden. I politely refrained from telling him that she was a trashy whore. Shay went on to say that he missed me... in the span of a day... That Eden was only a mistake and that he wanted to be with me again," She summarized disapprovingly. Jude turned around fully to face you, disapproval clearly written on her face. "Can you guess what my answer was, Tommy?" She asked coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. You shook your head because you didn't really know. You figured that she wouldn't jump back into his arms, but last night had changed your mind about her forever.

Jude looked somewhat disappointed with you for thinking there was a possibility that she would ever consider him again. You felt vaguely flattered that she wouldn't even consider him after one night with you. Then Jude turned to Shay and shot him a look that could've frozen Lake Ontario. "I said, Hell no. I don't do Eden's leftovers," Jude growled venomously. You smiled at that comment, amused at the humiliated look on Shay's face. You were enjoying his rejection just a bit too much. Shay was furious at the way Jude treated him, but he had deserved it. If you could face the full extent of Jude's wrath, which you admittedly deserved, then so could he. After all, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

However, something about the moment didn't sit well with Shay. His eyes immediately flicked to yours, and you met his glare head-on, completely unashamed. "How long have you been screwing your producer, Jude?" Shay questioned cruelly, knowing that would hurt her. He pointedly eyed the poorly-covered bruises on Jude's neck and collarbone. Bruises that you were proud to say you had caused. A cruel, vindictive grin appeared on his lips. Judgment was etched into his face as his eyes proclaimed Jude a slut. Something she was not. She'd only been with you, no one else, least of all him. Jude stiffened immediately, and her new attitude vanished before your eyes... leaving her that broken girl she'd been last night. Jude wasn't crying as she had last night, but the heartbreak was all too visible on her face. She merely trembled a little bit and shrank back, against you a little. Jude said nothing, but you weren't about to allow Shay to talk to her like that.

You stepped up in front of Jude, insuring that she was safely out of Shay's way. "Shut **up**, Shay! Just because she doesn't want to get back with you doesn't mean that she's with someone else. It means that she's finally wised up and seen that you're a snake in the grass. Face it, Shay-Shay. She doesn't think you're worth her time. You're a _lying_, **cheating** asshole who doesn't deserve her," You stated bluntly, hints of the rage you were so well-known for creeping into your voice. You straightened up a little, rising to your full height, leaning forward so you could properly intimidate the younger man. You remembered doing a similar thing the night before, but this time it was even more personal. "And if you talk to her like that again, I'll decide that you _are _worth the sweat and give you a beating you'll never forget," You threatened in a low hiss so that Jude couldn't hear you. Then you leaned back just as abruptly as you had leaned forward, invading Shay's space. You shot him a meaningful look and returned to Jude's side.

Shay actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at you. Like **he** didn't take _you_ seriously. Ha! Maybe it was the rhyming threat... His eyes narrowed as he looked at you. "You know, it's funny. Aunt Portia said the exact same things about you," Shay retorted snarkily. You stiffened a little bit, but you weren't ashamed of it. Portia was right about you, and as your ex-wife, she was entitled to be bitter. You wouldn't ever concede that you had deserved Portia, but you weren't even worthy to breathe the same air as Jude. And you would be the first to admit that. But Shay deserved her even less because at least you cared about her. You didn't give Shay the satisfaction of a response. He felt the need to continue speaking nonetheless. "And, in your book... Who does deserve her, _Saint_ Tommy? You?" Shay inquired maliciously, trying to provoke you.

You flinched at his personal nickname for you. After last night, you were even less of a saint than the one you usually weren't. In that sense, Shay's sarcastic insult was sharp, cutting straight to the heart. The guilt bubbled up again, so much more difficult to push down this time. But you showed none of this on the outside. You merely shrugged and said nothing. "Just not _you_, Shay," You replied icily, resisting the urge to push him away. That was truth enough. You turned to Jude as if to ask whether she wanted to leave. Jude said nothing, merely staring at Shay wordlessly. You wondered irrationally just what was so fascinating about him but wisely said nothing. He was her ex, and she wasn't entirely over him yet. That much was understandable. You told yourself you could accept that, but she never should've shed a tear over him in the first place.

Shay made a face at you, disbelieving. He snorted, gesturing at you and Jude casually. "And I'm supposed to believe that you're not doing my girlfriend? I saw the way you hugged her, Tommy. You were practically humping her. And the way you look at her. It's _sick_, man, 'cause you're old. Too old for Jude," Shay scoffed, giving you a dismissive once over. You didn't care; after all, you had sex with his girlfriend. He didn't, therefore you didn't give a damn what he thought about you. You were the real man here. He could think what he wanted; they all did. The point was that you had wanted Jude since before he'd even met her, and you had gotten what you wanted. But, of course, you wanted more. You wanted it _all_. You did, however, bristle when he brought up your age. Since when was twenty-two ancient? You hated the way that he'd brought up things you did feel, that he had a point. You **did** think you were sick for caring so much about Jude, for wanting her so badly you had to swallow it down and lock it up deep inside you.

Then Shay made the foolish mistake of turning to address Jude. He touched her arm, giving her a look. "And, Jude, I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me jealous by fooling around with one of the biggest players in all of Canada," He proclaimed pompously, shooting you a disapproving look. You rolled your eyes. Like he was one to talk. Yet you did not correct him as you should have because he immediately pushed onward. Shay did not look amused. His beady eyes once again focused on the marks on Jude's neck, burning into them resentfully. "_Congratulations_, it worked. I get the point. If I get mine, you're going to want your own affairs. I got it. It won't happen again, I swear," Shay promised shortly, insultingly. The color rose in Jude's pale cheeks, and she glowered at him hatefully, jerking her arm away from his hand. She covered a few of the marks on her chest embarrassedly, guiltily. You hated that Shay had made her ashamed of what you two, the both of you, had done last night, this morning. You weren't ashamed, and she shouldn't be either. There was nothing to be guilty about. You weren't seeing anyone, and Shay had dumped her. Once again, of course, Shay looked at you pointedly. You bore the brunt of his stare blithely, feeling every inch of your own superiority. "Now, just stop fooling around with this has-been so we just go back to the way it was," He entreated, not quite humble enough to beg. You almost winced for him; that had been a mistake. You could feel the searing rage radiating off of Jude behind you, and you knew he was in for it.

You were about to take care of it yourself when Jude stepped up proudly, in front of you. You tried to follow her, but she placed a hand on your chest, shot you a look that said she could deal with this herself, and pushed you back. This was clearly her battle to fight. She strode forward, unafraid and irritated beyond belief. She stopped right in front of Shay, who was grinning cockily like he'd just won a Grammy. You hated that victorious smirk of his, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it right off his face. Jude, however, took care of that. Furious, she slapped him hard right across the face. "_That_ was for cheating on me." Then she slapped him again. "_That_ was for cheating on me with Eden." Her face was flushed, her skin turning red. She straightened up then, chest heaving from the effort of hurling her open palm at his cheek. Only moments later, when Shay was about to speak, she interrupted him with yet another slap. "And _that_ was for calling **me**, of all people, the _whore_ in this relationship!" She screamed before wailing on him.

You waited a few moments before pulling Jude off Shay, who was not fighting back. You waited because it was a truly priceless image that you knew you'd never forget. However, when you grabbed her, around the waist, still kicking and fighting... You'd forgotten how much she affected you. She froze immediately at your touch; her inner beast soothed. Shay noticed, his lip bloodied, his right eye slowly bruising, and he glowered at you accordingly. But you were holding Jude, so you didn't really care. Jude straightened, trying to regain her lost cool. "And, my sex life is none of your business anyways, Shay, because I'm not your _girlfriend_ anymore. And I'm not using Tommy to make you jealous, okay? That would be an insult to both Tommy and me," Jude snapped scathingly, going for the jugular. Then she paused, straightening her dress and plastering on a fake smile, she continued primly, "If I wanted to make you jealous, this is how I'd act."

Swiftly, Jude turned to you and gave you a long, lingering once over that took your breath away. It made you remember last night, even though you didn't, and the way she'd stared at you when she tried to leave. That was the first opportunity she'd had to get a good look at you in the light, and you remembered how she'd _stared_. If you were a self-conscious man, you surely would've worried, but you weren't a self-conscious man. Then Jude smiled slowly, licking her lips, and grinning invitingly. You knew she was trying to seduce you, but that didn't matter. It didn't even matter that Shay was looking on. Jude leaned in towards you, slowly moving closer and closer, until she was only a few millimeters away from your lips. You caught yourself leaning in when she suddenly pulled away abruptly and turned to face Shay, smirking smugly. "Like that," Jude said plainly, not looking at you. You hated the way she made you feel. Used. She was right. It was insulting to you that she was just using you to make Shay jealous.

Shay laughed at you like you were the ridiculous one, and you fought down the urge to punch him so hard you'd break his cheekbone. Jude rolled her eyes at him. "Well, Shay, I wouldn't laugh at Tommy if I were you. I'd make a wager that he's better in bed than you are, but then I'd actually have to have sex with _you_, and that's just disgusting," Jude rejoined nastily. You almost winced because she said nothing about having sex with you, only about how the mere possibility of having sex with Shay was nauseating to her. Thus, it could be inferred that she'd had sex with you. Her words were ambiguous like that. You saw the look on Shay's face, though, and he looked absolutely scandalized. You wanted to smirk but refrained because then it might look like you had sex with Jude. And you didn't want anyone to think that, right? "Look, Shay, I'm over you and what you did. I assure you that your petty little betrayal is the least of my worries. But I'm _never_ going to get back with you, Shay. Now can we just go our separate ways in peace?" Jude declared assertively, coolly, like the whole thing had been nothing to her, and she wasn't torn.

Jude didn't wait for an answer. She whirled around, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you with her towards your studio briskly. She threw open the door, not sparing you a backwards glance, and you had no choice but to follow. She picked up a notebook she must've stashed there before she met up with Shay in the lobby. It was a notebook you recognized well since you'd been carrying it around almost nonstop for a week. It was your notebook; you'd written ten songs in it just yesterday. It was half-full last time you'd checked. How Jude had gotten her hands on it was a mystery to you, but you didn't want her to see it. It was, however, all too clear that she had by the look on her face. For a moment, you wondered if she was going to sing one of your songs, but then you remembered last night and presumed that she would sing that song she'd been working on.

Once Jude was in the studio, she became a whole new person. Jude was wholly focused on her work, not even acknowledging or looking at you. She was setting up the recording booth like a pro, since she'd seen you do it enough times to do the process in her sleep. She detailed what she wanted for the background music and, together, the two of you recorded the instrumental section. Jude was brief and to the point, however, like she was numbing herself to feeling anything because it would be too painful. Reflecting and remembering entirely too much, you recorded and played and edited on auto-pilot, plagued with thoughts of Jude. The woman herself (for she was one of those now, in every sense of the word, despite her age) didn't seem to notice your distraction. Eventually, however, when it was half past seven (you had encountered Jude around four-thirty), you were finished with the background and everything finally satisfied Jude.

Then, of course, it was time to record Jude's vocals. Neither of you had bothered to fetch Kwest for assistance, and Jude was being very insistent on how she wanted the song to sound. The general recording process was awkward and tense, to say the least. You felt the sexual tension in the air, even though you had already slept with her. It didn't help that you kept seeing her in that dress, creamy skin flashing every time one of her sleeves fell down. The tightness of the dress itself drove you halfway to insanity. You kept getting distracted looking at her, so you made her redo the song time after time until you were driving Jude crazy. It gave you a sick sort of satisfaction to make her feel just as bad as you did. It didn't help matters any that the song was clearly written about what transpired between the two of you. Finally, Jude blew up, screamed at you to stop, and barged into the studio.

"God, Tom! What the **hell** is your problem?!" Jude roared furiously, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. She didn't notice how that gesture pushed her chest out, nor did she notice how she was slightly hyperventilating and turning red in the face. Jude was pacing, but she stopped and focused her steely blue-eyed gaze on you. "I know you're sick of hearing how I feel, and you just can't hear this right now, but Tommy..." She began vehemently, anger dissipating as she trailed off, pointing an accusing finger at you. She sighed wearily, drooping a little, and collapsed in the chair next to you, the one that Kwest usually sat in. You happened to like its new occupant much more than its previous occupant. Jude looked down at the ground then gazed back at you, meeting your stare with sad, richly blue eyes. "I have to do this now, while it's still fresh. The sooner I finish this up, the less you have to see of me and be reminded of what you did," Jude murmured quietly. You winced at her last comment and felt ashamed for trying to peer up her skirt.

Not that Jude had noticed. Somehow how completely into her you were had managed to slip past her, and she hadn't noticed the way you'd been staring at her all night, breathless and wanting to drag her back to your hotel room, consequences be damned. You didn't mind looking at Jude. You hated looking at Jude and not being able to stop your lusty thoughts. You hated to think that you'd taken advantage of her when she was drunk, vulnerable, and heartbroken. You loved looking at her, especially now when she looked so beautiful and like sex incarnate. You hated the way you stared at her, wanted her, and couldn't do anything about it. The only reason she was still here right now was because you stared at her so much it was interfering with your work.

Jude rose wearily, looking parched. She gestured towards the door. "Now, I'm going to go for a water break, and when I come back, I will sing one final take... And I **will** be done for the night," Jude assured you bossily, giving you a look that told you to stop screwing around. She was halfway to the door when she suddenly turned around and pulled something out of her bra. It was a platinum credit card, yours, in fact. "Hope you don't mind that I used your credit card. Disposing of the evidence is expensive," Jude replied airily, tossing you the credit card. You caught it just as she turned on her heel and left. Gazing at your silver credit card, you couldn't help but think with a smirk that you would gladly pay for the charges that had made her look like _that_. No matter what the cost was, seeing Jude like that was... _definitely_ worth it. She didn't look back at you. It was like she'd cryogenically frozen herself so that she barely alive, but dead inside... numb to all pain, impervious to illness. But just like cryogenics, it was a flawed idea. Bottling it up inside, burying it all, masking her feelings... It wouldn't work forever, and when it stopped, it would be worse than ever.

After you could no longer see her, you got up, went inside the booth, and peered at the notebook she'd adopted as her own. Sure enough, you were right. This was the very same notebook in which you'd written some of your finest songs, or, to be more precise, some of your finest _love_ songs. They were all obviously about Jude, that much was ridiculously obvious. Even if you didn't already know that, you could tell by the color of the notebook. Red notebooks were for songs about Jude, while blue notebooks were for songs about yourself, your past, and from the Boyz Attack period. Green notebooks were for songs for other people and songs about other people. Black notebooks were from your solo period and for work specifically geared towards a solo career. Black notebooks were also songs about all of your deepest feelings, the depths of your rage, your fear, your self-loathing, your regret, and your sadness.

You looked at the last page, so you could finally understand what she'd been saying the whole time. The words on the page were faded and distorted by what were obviously teardrops. It hurt your eyes to look at each teardrop, every droplet that had been cried over you all over the page. It hurt you even more to know that you had caused every salty drop of her pain, and you wished more than anything that you hadn't hurt her in the first place. Except of course... You wanted to be with her more than that, and that would solve all your problems. But you could be nobody's boyfriend, least of all Jude's, and you were kidding yourself if you thought that would make it better. You didn't have a very good concept lately of how to make things better, considering you thought having sex with her would heal all of her emotional scars.

For a short time, it actually had, and you had been right. But that didn't erase them. It just covered up the scars, made it so they didn't matter, and deepened them, creating new wounds. Jude was worse off now that you'd made love to her... now that she knew what it was like to _be_ with you like that. It made the pain all the more acute, all that much stronger. The hurt was more cutting; it reached deeper into her heart, devastating her further. So your tired, sad eyes skimmed over the lyrics, reading them, repeating them softly to yourself, slowly memorizing them. They were on your mind constantly in the days afterwards.

Then you set down the journal that had been so valuable to you, the one that had contained some of the best, most honest material you'd ever written, and you left it there on the stool as a symbol. A symbol of nonintervention, and a symbol of how much you cared about Jude. You cared enough to leave her with the journal that expressed the strongest feelings you'd ever had... because you thought she deserved to have some sense of reassurance that she _mattered_ to you. That journal could be as deep a glimpse as she ever got into your feelings for her. It was your only way of possibly explaining and clarifying how you felt about her. And she deserved to know that at least. So you let her have it. Let her know as much of you as she can.

You walked out of the booth, back into the studio, and sat down in your chair silently, as if you hadn't done anything. Jude strutted in the room a few moments later, water bottle in hand, drinking from it greedily. Was it so terrible that you were actually jealous of the water bottle for touching her lips as you wanted to do, even now after you already had. You'd certainly done things with Jude that were more intimate than a kiss. As meaningless as sex often was to you, you knew enough about it to judge properly if it was good or bad... and you knew enough to know that it was different with Jude. That you actually had the feelings to back it up this time. You knew she thought you were nothing but a dirty, rotten liar, but like her lyrics had said... "You never lied to me not once." You meant everything you'd told her.

Unless you said you loved her somewhere in there. You were never quite sure what you said in that moment, the one moment where you lost control and ached, when you quit holding back and released your inhibitions. From that moment, the build-up to the climax, then the climax itself, and the high you felt coming down... the afterglow... You were only just barely in control of your bodily functions, and you couldn't be held responsible for your actions. Simply because you weren't thinking straight, and you wouldn't remember. And with Jude, you were even more inclined to say something stupid like that.

You did want all of those things for her. You wanted to give her all those things and so, so much more. But you shouldn't have made promises to her that you couldn't keep, no matter how much you wanted to keep them... No matter how much you wanted to make them come true. It wasn't right of you to do that. Jude sighed satisfactorily, thirst effectively quenched. Your thirst, on the contrary, was raging and ravaging, even worse than before. Every moment you looked at Jude, your desire grew. So you tried not to let it show, and you bit down on your bottom lip just a little bit harder.

And then you pressed the buttons, flipped the switches, and the music started to play. Jude began to sing, and you were immediately lost in her voice, lost in her song. She had been holding back before, staving off the emotion, but not now. Now she was expressing every painful bit of it in both her singing and her appearance... her gestures, her facial expressions, her body language. The hurt radiated off of her, seeping through the glass, and finally reaching you. You couldn't take your eyes off her for even a minute, and you found it hard to even blink... so strong was the urge to stare at her, to memorize every freckle, every fleck of color in those blue-gray eyes, to read her up and down like an old, broken book. You wanted to touch her desperately, but that wouldn't fix anything.

It wouldn't ameliorate her pain; it wouldn't wash away the traces of tears on her face. Silent tears were starting to roll gracefully down her cheeks, and you knew she'd hate that. She had made herself up so carefully, using make-up to camouflage her insecurities, to make her appear older than she really was. Her entire appearance was put together so as to attract a man by showing off her best assets. She'd thought it up to show you once again what you were missing... Like you hadn't already burned the graven images of her naked body into your mind. She wanted to set you afire with desire, to rekindle the flame, to make you burn with regret, to brand you as her devotee. You were burning hopelessly now, dying for your cause like a martyr at the stake. Only you weren't quite so innocent or so pious, and you weren't quite sure what the hell you were fighting for. But you were dying a slow, painful death nonetheless, burning for your heresy and hypocrisy. The flames licked at your body, hungrily devouring your sinful, delicious flesh... the same that had claimed her last night. You had liked her hunger much more than the fire's.

At the very least, you were suffering. Even if Jude didn't know it. And Jude mustn't know it because if she did... You couldn't finish that thought, but you knew you must keep it from her. You must guard your secret, lock it up inside of you like your mind was a safe. You stared at her with wide, awed eyes. Your gaze never wavered once. Jude wasn't looking down at the ground like a scolded, ashamed child. She was looking up, over your head, but her eyes were closed. Silvery tears trailed down her delicate cheeks proudly, but she was too devoted to the song to notice or care. You'd already seen her fall apart, come to pieces... You'd already seen her at her worst. It just didn't matter anymore. She merely clutched her headphones painfully, knuckles white with strain. She went after every note relentlessly, hurtling herself into the work. She leaned into the microphone, getting so close that her lips brushed against it sometimes when she sang.

The entire vision of her, so much like an avenging angel, would forever be etched in your memory. She was crying, and she looked so fragile, but there was something about her that insisted she was strong. She would bend but not break. She would sway; she would stagger, but she would not fall. She would change, adapt... to become stronger, fiercer. She would survive. And, for the first time, you did not worry about her. Her shoulders did not shake from the tears. Her cheeks were ghostly pale, an unearthly, ethereal color, not a flushed pink. Her eyes were not swollen; the tears brought her no pain. Each droplet streamed down over the contours of her face in a line, one after the other, reaching her chin and dropping off to softly splash unto the floor. She was altogether a perfect vision of tragedy, of the effects a broken heart could have on a person. She could've cried for an eternity, so great was her misery. But she did not let it control her; she didn't let it dominate her or dictate her life.

Her self-control amazed you. She was broken, yet holding herself together, teeth and nails. She could feel all those things but not fall over the edge and into oblivion... like you had always feared. She seemed determined to live whole. You were dazzled by her in those few moments when she'd been pouring her heart and soul out for you. She left you breathless. Then she stopped, letting the last note ring out, loud and clear, and the song was over... and she looked at you with those deep cerulean eyes of hers, wide and wet, and you saw the world through her eyes; you saw the sun set, and you saw the sun rise. You saw infinity in her gaze; forever and you did not flinch.

It was a strange, oddly sober moment in a life that seemed so surreal and out of control. A life that was like a dream and a nightmare all rolled together. Yet there was Jude, a shining beacon of hope, representing everything good and pure in the world. Jude was the light shining through the darkness. She looked like an angel to you. Somehow your mental facilities were still functioning despite all this, and you recognized when she stopped singing. You stopped the recording and the music accordingly, did some minor editing; you didn't need to do much. Jude was like a sibyl; she had predicted it would be this way, that her vocals would be absolutely flawless. Then again, _everything_ about her was flawless. Your fault-finding eyes sought out none of the usual imperfections. Every little thing she did was magical to your eyes, and you were all too willing to be enchanted.

You did some final editing, glad for once that your ears had been carefully conditioned and trained to do this so that you could do this in your sleep. You almost did, for every movement seemed slow and sluggish, like a dream in molasses. Jude remained impatiently and petulantly in the recording booth, eagerly gulping down her water and occasionally shooting you a dark glare. You edited the music methodically and then finally laid down the vocals over the instrumental track, making a few adjustments so that it was finally completely, one-hundred percent, without a doubt perfect. There was something seductive about perfection, you reflected idly. Something about actually achieving exactly what you strove to do made you obsess about doing it again. Perfection was its own reward, knowing that those long, long hours of work had paid off.

There was something sacred about music to you, something holy about it. It was like your anchor to the world, your own personal way of dealing with going to Hell and back. At the ripe age of twenty-two, you'd been all around the world twice, seen all there was to see, and you'd tried almost everything once. Even played daddy once for a while to a kid that wasn't yours, but you thought the little girl was. And wasn't that just as bad, even if the paternity test got you off the hook? You'd been married, too, but you could never settle down and tame your wild ways. It hadn't lasted long. Hell, you'd gone from living on the streets, singing to make your dinner, to penthouse suites and platinum records... still singing for your dinner, but at least you were clean and had a roof over your head again. Music was a bitch, sometimes, like when your life had been so miserably pointless and miserably empty... So fake that you hated what you did naturally.

You sang. You wrote songs. You played the guitar. You'd even learned how to play exotic instruments like a sitar or a balalaika in your world travels. Music was ingrained into your being. It was a part of who you are, who you were, simple as that. And, if there was one thing you knew, you knew that it was a crime to deny your very nature. So you couldn't stop. You couldn't try and be someone else for long. You couldn't do the serious thing, and you couldn't give up music. You could change the music, go behind the soundboard instead of the mike, but that wouldn't change much. That just put the power, the authority, and the control... all of which were so very precious to you... in your hands. And if that was the price you had to pay to keep up your music, then that wasn't so bad. It didn't suit you to try and pass yourself off as someone you weren't. You weren't anything more than a washed-out wannabe rock musician turned producer.

You'd sold out so long ago that you didn't remember what the days were like before. You remembered misery and desperation. That was all. Music was your life, your passion! You were not one to deny yourself of a passion. Music was the only reason you were alive now, and some days it had been the only thing that kept you going. A song was still the fastest and most effective way to reach you. She knew you too well. Jude's song had affected you profoundly, but you didn't show the way it cut at your heart. You couldn't do that.

So you recorded the song unto a CD, labeled it, and stood. You intended to put it on Georgia's desk before leaving. Then Jude stepped out of the booth so quietly that you just looked up, and there she was, standing in front of you. She looked incredibly vulnerable there with her hand on the doorway, legs shaking slightly. Her eyes were still glossy with tears, and she suddenly remembered that her cheeks were still wet. She brushed away the tears from her cheeks, embarrassed. Then she blinked and straightened, walking towards you slowly, hesitantly.

You hated how she tried to act like it had never happened. It seemed so glaringly obvious to you that she'd been screwed. Even if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't done it... You knew all the signs. The way her skin glowed in a new, unreal way. How soft and smooth and delicate her translucent, creamy skin was, ensuring that you wanted to touch her forever. The way her hair seemed so shiny and vivid, how it looked perfect despite the messiness. The new way she carried herself, so upright. The new, sexy confidence and pride she possessed, the way she stood. How self-conscious and self-aware she suddenly was of her body and that new, sacred power she could wield over men. The way her hips swayed as she moved. Then there were the obvious signs... the mottled scarlet bruises that she hadn't quite covered up properly and the beestung, kiss-swollen lips... your cologne.

Her legs didn't buckle, though. She didn't wince or show any indication of pain. She didn't grimace. Most importantly, however, she didn't limp. You wanted her sore like you were, only worse since it had been her first time. You wanted it to feel like it had been her first time. You wanted her to ache because you had been in her once, and you weren't anymore. You wanted muscles she never knew she had to whine in protest whenever she moved, a constant reminder of what had made her feel that way. You wanted, no, needed her to remember. You needed her to remember because you couldn't. You couldn't allow yourself that luxury, that dangerous daydream. You couldn't allow yourself the possibility, but she could. She could live on such possibilities with the hope you never had.

You wanted her to feel like you'd torn her apart inside, even though you hadn't. You wanted her to feel the scratches on your back, the soul-piercing guilt, the overwhelming regret... and the relief. Relief that you had done the deed, gotten it over with... but not out of your system like you wanted. It was the exact opposite now. You were closer to her than you'd ever been. You'd breathed together; you'd felt her skin on yours, and you couldn't forget the feeling of that for the world. You had kept her up all night; she had to be sore. But maybe she wasn't. Maybe she wasn't as hurt as you had thought.

Jude stopped directly in front of you. You couldn't help but notice that she was standing just a little too close to you. The scent of your cologne kept wafting over to you. For once, she let down the mask and let you see how truly broken and fragile she really was. She wrapped her arms around her waist, glancing down at the ground like she couldn't say it to your face. She who was so strong couldn't face you. At first you'd thought she was the weak one, long ago, when you first met her and thought you'd had her pegged. But it had been you all along. You were the truly weak one, for not fighting this with everything in you. She fought fate with everything in her. Hell, she even fought **you**. You couldn't help but admire her for that. "Tommy...?" She asked timidly.

You snapped to attention, nodding slowly. You wanted so badly to touch her that you almost had to cut off both of your hands to stop yourself from doing that very thing. Jude exhaled a shaky breath, looking at you all too briefly for your taste. She quickly looked down, and you noticed that she was shivering just slightly. You stepped closer to her. Jude's lips shook, and she didn't look up until you gently placed your finger under her chin and made her look at you. You waited patiently for her to speak, sure that whatever she had to say would be worth it. "When does the pain go away?" She murmured in a thin, weak voice.

After that, you couldn't help yourself. You swept her into her arms, and she shuddered but did not cry. You wrapped you arms around her tightly, pressing her against you. You didn't know which kind of pain you were speaking of... and if it was the emotional kind, you had no answer for her. You buried your face in her hair, inhaling the smell of the ocean. "It hurts a little less each day... until you don't feel anything, and it's just a dull ache in your heart," You answered softly, as honestly as you could. You had no idea what you were saying, or if it was true. You only knew that you had to say something to make it better. You had to give her some answer. Everything gets better with time.

Except your inappropriate obsession with her. That only seemed to grow worse, stronger over time. Jude nodded slowly like she understood, pulling away from you. She finally knew that you were dangerous to touch. She didn't want to tempt you now, when you were weakened and wanting her the most, and damn her for that! She didn't want to play with you, to toy with you, to push you down that path. But you wanted to go down that path hand in hand with her in the dark. If she let you, you would take her there. But she didn't push you there this time. She pushed you away, only not literally. Metaphorically, but you could feel every bit of the pressure nonetheless. She looked up into your eyes for a brief moment, like she was afraid you might suck her into your stare and pull her down with you. "It _hurts_, Tommy," She admitted finally, sighing and glancing away.

You wanted her to admit it, to say those words or... Or something to show that it had all really happened. You wanted her to stop lying, even though you'd made her lie. Only now that she had said it, now that she'd given in and given up, you didn't feel better. You didn't feel like you'd gotten off the hook. You felt like you were still alone reeling from it. Her jaw trembled, and she looked back up at you, a bitter, accusing look in her eyes. You didn't look away from her, but merely stood there and waited. You deserved whatever was coming your way; you weren't afraid to face it. "_You_ **made** me hurt, Tommy," Jude said in a monotone, staring at you with those hauntingly blue eyes. The words cut you like butcher knives and stinging bottles of liquor that had been thrown at your head. Her pitch rose and so did her anger.

Her eyes blazed nearly white with rage, crackling like lightning. "You like that, don't you?" She sneered caustically, throwing her pain in your face. Making you face what you'd done. She really knew you through and through, didn't she? You had liked that. You'd liked every second of that. Well, the physical part. You could do without this emotional business. "That you _broke_ me... That you really **tore** me up inside," She mumbled brokenly, surrendering, tears coming to her eyes. She blinked the tears away fiercely, but you were left haunted by her words. You felt like you'd raped her. And a part of you had, because you'd stripped her of that innocence. You'd made her into some unattainable fantasy girl, and then you made her older so you could have her. You ripped her of her childhood, carelessly pushed it aside like her bra and her underwear, so you could take what you wanted. So that it wouldn't be wrong for you to have what you wanted.

God, you hated yourself. Jude clenched her fists at her sides, and you knew that she wanted to take a swing at you. You brought your chin up so she'd have a better shot. Why fight what you deserved? You were a sick son of a bitch, and you had no reason to mess around with a girl like her. You didn't have the right to suddenly change your mind, decide you wanted her, make her grow up, and take away her virginity. You were ruining her life, and maybe the both of you would be better off if you just left. Jude threw her hands in the air, furious, breaking. She was screaming at the top of her lungs now. "You _affected_ me, okay?! There, I said it! I **give**, Tommy! I can't pretend it didn't happen! You win!" Jude shouted as loudly as she could, falling apart, knowing that no one else could hear her. There were benefits to a sound-proofed room, after all... She threw her hands in the air, flinging them around wildly, a dangerously unhinged look in her eyes. But it didn't feel like a victory. It was a cheap one anyways. You felt like you'd cheated your way into winning. You didn't feel like you'd won at all, and why had you wanted it anyways? Jude sighed, shooting you a look that saw right through you. You were as transparent as glass to her, and your edges were just as sharp. "Are you happy now?" She sniped viciously, glowering at you.

You backed away and couldn't even look at her. Shamefully, you kept your eyes on the ground, unable to speak. You could feel her impatience, and you knew you had to answer. But you didn't want to. Only sometimes... You can't always get what you want. You used to know that. But then you had sex with Jude, and that kind of shot everything you believed in to Hell, now didn't it? You didn't even know who the hell you were anymore, but you couldn't look at yourself in the mirror and like who you saw staring back at you. You couldn't respect yourself. You weren't yourself, just as this imposter standing before you wasn't Jude. She wasn't your Jude. She was a bitter, enraged, volatile Jude, and you'd pushed her off the edge.

But you didn't want to see the mess you'd created, so you merely backed away and looked down. And it was like you didn't see. Perfect. Jude was the same. Only she wasn't, and you weren't that same guy, but you could lie to yourself. For however long it took. You were good at lying; it came to you like a second nature. You were more accustomed to lies than the truth, and you had to be in this business. If you ever told anyone what you really thought about them, you wouldn't last a day. So you'd become an absolutely wonderful liar, and you'd learned how to talk yourself out of murder. But you were honest with Jude, and that was a curse. You found it so hard, trying to lie to her, and you couldn't do it, not like you should. It took too much effort out of you, aged you beyond your years. "No," You said honestly, wanting to lie.

It would've been a lie, though, to say you were happy before you'd had sex with Jude. You hadn't even been happy before you met her. In fact, she'd given you most of the few happy moments in your life. There were a few highlights, but other than that, your life was pretty damn bleak. Pretty predictable. Dull. And you tried to be none of those things. It was less pathetic that way. You could count every truly happy moment in your life... Not the momentary ones, but the ones that lingered... The ones that you could think of and still smile fondly in recollection. You remembered your sixth birthday, and how your mother had been nicer than, how she'd gone all out. And she and your father had been decent to each other. You remembered the bright balloons, all the friends, the euphoria, and each and every colorful present you'd received. You'd been so damn happy in the way that only a little kid can be. You'd been so eager to rip off the paper and so caught up in the wonder of it all. You missed being a kid. You'd forgotten what it felt like.

But you remembered the way the cake tasted, sweet like candy, melty and warm. And that was happiness to you. You remembered when you'd turned nine, and you'd gotten your first guitar. You'd been pushing lemonade on people for weeks and mowing lawns for as many summers as you could remember to do it, but it was worth it. The lawn mower was taller than you were, but it had taught you the meaning of hard work and had given you a killer tan and muscles most kids your age didn't have. You'd paid for all of it with your own money, and you felt the satisfaction of being able to put it all down at once. You'd picked out a guitar much too big for you, one all the better for you to grow into. A plain black Fender Telecaster, just like the one Joe Strummer sported. The whole rest of the day, you'd watched music videos on MTV and mimicked the musicians. You were teaching yourself, albeit slowly, how to play the guitar.

And you'd be lying if it came to you naturally at first, but you already played the piano by that point. With a little work, you could make the guitar do whatever you wanted. By the end of the day, your fingers were numb and bleeding, but you understood the basics of playing. You'd had a blast learning. So every day afterwards, no matter what, you'd resumed your place after school, guitar in hand, in front of the TV, and you practiced harder than you ever had on that dumb old piano. For that was the day that you knew that you wanted to be a musician. Hell, you wanted to be a rock star, as ridiculous as that was.

And you'd sort of gotten what you wanted. The fame, anyways. That you had, but you didn't want it. You wanted to be taken seriously as a musician. You were a bubblegum pop star, and that left a bad aftertaste in your mouth. Those songs were sickly sweet, just like the gum. And when the saccharine taste faded, all you were left with was the bitter aftertaste in your mouth. You wanted more.

A couple years later, of course, you learned that your hands had the same affect on women. Those were always happy moments for you. Not necessarily the kinds you would count off, but sometimes... depending on the girl... They came close enough.

And then there was the day you were picked off the streets. You were ravenously hungry, dirty, and cold. You were sick of facing every damn winter on the same street corner, freezing your ass off. You had nothing left but a backpack of clothes and mementos and the guitar case on your back. And a few lousy pennies. You were thin and frail but toughened up by the streets. Suddenly, Darius, this great, rich man, had walked up to you, thinking you were so much younger than you really were, and he'd taken pity on you. He slipped you some money, offered you a ride home. You'd given him a look that could've frozen a hot spring, and you said frostily, "If I had a home of any kind that was _worth_ going back to, do you think I'd be living on the street? They don't want _me_, and I don't want **them**. I've made it this long, and I'd rather **die** than go back there." You meant it too, with every disdainful, hateful fiber of your being. At that point, you would've died just to spite them, shame them into remembering they had a son they'd kicked out and left for dead. Especially your dad, the big-shot ex-sheriff turned district attorney. Wouldn't that have just been peachy?

You didn't even have a home to go back to. They'd left for America. Not that you knew, but it didn't surprise you. Darius asked you to sing for him, and so you did. And he smiled so widely, and his teeth were so white. You remembered the way he grinned, clamping his hand down on your shoulder. He asked you for your name, and you told him. "I've never met a kid like you with a voice like yours. You remind me a little of myself at your age. You're stubborn and self-reliant. You understand what it takes to survive. I like that. Now, I'm starting up this band of guys in their teens. I want you to be the first one to join. All you have to do is come back with me to my mansion. You'll be taken care of. What do you say, Tommy?" Darius had offered, smiling like he was an old friend and complimenting you. You shrunk back, suspicious. This man who was offering you the world was a stranger. And he wanted you to go back to his place with him. If there was one thing life on the streets had taught you, it was that there were perverts looking everywhere, most of 'em in your direction.

It was a good thing then that you were scrappy. You knew how to fight. The bitterly cold winters you'd somehow survived, against the odds, made you strong and suspicious. You'd seen one too many Little Match Girl-like mirages to trust your eyes and your mind. If something looked too good to be true, it probably was. Simple as that. So you'd said no at first. Because you didn't want to wind up some old man's sex slave, thank you very much, and you weren't sure if it was even really happening to you... Rags to riches, the chance of a lifetime. Why waste something like that on you? You were completely unremarkable. Darius had chuckled and said it wasn't like that. He admired you, but he wasn't into that stuff. He capitalized on how hungry and tired and unwell you really were, and so you wound up going home with him. Because at least someone wanted you around. Darius was nice; he practically treated you like his own son. You recovered, adjusted to your new life. Turns out you had a nasty case of pneumonia.

And you were warm, full, clean, and had a roof over your head again. But you didn't have a home or a family. You were as good as an orphan now, only you were forever indebted to Darius, who practically owned you. And still, the chill of the Canadian winters you weathered in the lonely, snowy alleyways never quite went away. It had penetrated your bones and stayed there, a deep freeze that would never thaw.

And then there was Jude. There was always Jude.

You could still think back on the pier and smile, but that hadn't made you happy. Truly happy, anyways. It was a bittersweet thought. It was a nice memory, though, so you clung to it. That electric connection did it for you. You'd never felt like that with anyone else. Connecting, really connecting, with people didn't come so easily to you, unlike other things. It was rare, a connection like that for you. Here was this girl, this sweet, naïve, stubborn, amazingly _real_ girl who challenged you... and she thought the absolute best of you. How could you not love that?

Last night was one of the happiest moments in your entire miserable life. There had been others, when you were on your own... That time your dad took you skipping rocks. The very first gig you'd ever had... Hamburgers had never tasted so good... Meeting the guys and making real friends for the first time ever... Friends that weren't really like friends, but more like brothers you weren't actually related to... a sort of surrogate family you could rely on. There was the feeling of writing your first song. The year after Boyz Attack you spent traveling the world, finding yourself again all on your own. You weren't tied down to anybody, and you weren't in Darius' debt. Moments you wouldn't ever forget.

But last night you wouldn't trade for anything. You were genuinely happy, and it had been so long since you could remember ever being that happy. You wondered if you ever had. You had certainly never been that... ecstatic with a girl- woman. You and Jude were so close, breathing the same air... It was like you were sharing the same skin, and this thought wasn't completely flawed. You were with someone who understood you completely, fully. Someone who saw you for more than you were. Jude had faith in you, and that good faith was worth everything to you. She loved you. Honestly loved you for who you were. So you had basked in that glow, and you'd found that you even liked being close to her.

You liked the scent of her, like roses, the way her skin glowed in the moonlight... You liked how smooth and creamy it was, how it was so soft that you could scarcely keep her hands off of her. You liked running your fingers through her messy red locks, soft as silk. You liked her full, pouty, achingly kissable lips. And kissing her was even better. You liked the way she tasted, forbidden, and deliciously like red wine. You loved the way she could turn you on without even knowing that she was doing it. You liked the way she was so passionate, so bold, so, fearless, and so vocal... Her moans were music to your ears. Then, later, you found that you liked being quiet and just holding her in your arms, whispering to her softly and slowly drifting off to sleep with her by your side. You had grown so tired of being alone all the time.

You glanced up at her, and she suddenly couldn't take it. She shook her head, disbelieving and unforgiving. Her eyes were wide and startlingly sky blue with panic. "Take me home, Tommy!" Jude exclaimed loudly, flustered. You shot her a puzzled look, and she immediately turned to you. She looked away only seconds later. "God! I can't even look at you anymore!" Jude hissed, disgusted with you. You looked down shamefully as she picked up her things in a flurry, clearly intending to leave. It was best not to argue with her when she was like this. You left her to her own devices, and you slipped in Georgia's office, placing the CD on her desk. Mission accomplished. When you stepped out of the office, Jude was there, waiting for you none too patiently, completely furious with you. "Take me home **now**!" Jude shouted desperately, not quite begging, but on the verge of hysteria nonetheless. You decided it was best to follow her orders, so you nodded solemnly and shut the door behind you.

An enraged, upset Jude clutched your journal to her chest like it was her anchor. You didn't take it away from her. You merely peered back at her and led the way to your car. You looked down at your watch on the way there. It wasn't even ten yet. She could still make her curfew. You opened the door for Jude, but she wasn't at all grateful. In fact, she glowered at you and slammed the door shut just because she knew how much it bothered you. You got in your car seconds later, shutting the door much more gently than she had. Jude rolled her eyes at this, but still you made sure that she fastened her seatbelt. You wouldn't have anyone dying on your watch. The blame was already on your bloody hands as it was.

Jude snapped at you to speed it up, unconcerned for her own safety. She just wanted to get home, damn it, and she wanted to get home fast. She was that sick of being in your presence. You could only comply with her wishes. She was just so frustrated. Besides, she hadn't been home in over twenty-four hours. It was time to face the music. She barely said anything to you in the car, and if she did, it was just an order. Being a musician, you hated silence, but Jude didn't let you turn on the radio. She merely looked out the window like you weren't even there and refused to speak a single word. Jude threw the door open three houses before you even saw her house then barked at you to slow down. You finally slowed down in front of Jamie's house (several houses later, to Jude's chagrin) and Jude flew out of the car, despite the heels, racing towards her house like it was a sanctuary. You stopped the car, closed your door, and leaned forward to insure that she got in safely. You'd hate to leave her alone out there in the frigid night.

You watched her for what seemed like forever as her keys materialized from somewhere, and she fiddled with the lock, managing after a few minutes to get the door open. You suspected that she wouldn't have struggled as much if you hadn't been there, watching her. Then she went inside, not quite closing the door all the way shut behind her. Everything looked fine, but you decided that you would wait until she was safely inside with the door securely locked behind her before leaving. There was something incredibly reassuring about knowing that the girl who meant so much to you was okay. For a minute or two, it seemed as if everything was all right. But that door was still open... and then something went horribly wrong.

Jude stepped out of the house, jerking her keys out of the lock as if she'd been burned. She barely shut the door behind her. Her thought processes seemed scattered, and she looked so lost. You realized that she was broken in a way that you could never break her. For once, you had done nothing to cause it. Panic was written all over Jude's face, dread etched into every feature. Her face had just dropped into this look of dismay. She was white as a sheet and a mass of trembling limbs. She raced to your car as if on fire. Her dead, unemotional eyes were focused only on the car. Given the way she hadn't even wanted to be around you two seconds ago, you guessed she'd walked in on something devastating. She'd picked you because you were the lesser of two evils, and you were the only one who could get her away from here.

That didn't flatter you any, but at least you didn't have to feel bad about leaving her all alone. You were almost happy that she'd seen whatever she had and chose you as an alternative. Almost... because you could never be truly happy if she was miserable. Jude's shaking fingers fumbled with your door, but she inhaled deeply and abruptly jerked your car door open, practically hurling herself inside. She didn't look at you, and she wasn't crying, but she wasn't all right either. She shut your door, looking eerily calm as she fastened her seatbelt in the moonlight. You knew she wanted you to floor it out of there, but you couldn't. You wanted to know what was wrong first. You needed her to tell you. Jude stiffened in her seat, clearly not wanting to be there. Instead of doing anything rash, however, she merely placed her hand against the window bracingly. For the longest time, you just sat there, staring at her, and neither of you said anything.

Then Jude sighed deeply and turned to face you. Her face was pleading and desperate. Her eyes were stormy and confused, the color of van Gogh's Irises. You couldn't say no to that look, not that you ever said no to Jude anyways. "Tommy, I need to get away from here now," Jude mumbled somewhat absently in a quiet, fragile voice. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, a distraught look crossing her pretty face. Her knuckles were white. She looked at any moment like she was about to burst into tears. She glanced away, gun-shy and unable to look at you, so she missed your nod. But you did nod, and you floored it. You had a sixth sense about Jude, and it told you that she was going to break down and soon.

Jude smiled briefly at your enthusiasm for breaking the speed limit (you had gone 110 in a residential zone), but the smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Still, even if you got a speeding ticket as a result of it, it was worth it because it made her smile... Even if it was only for the briefest of moments. She stared blankly out into the space in front of you, never moving, never flinching. She was definitely trying to hold it together, but she was still obviously coming apart at the seams. But Jude, of course, didn't see this. She merely saw the charade she was trying to put up, and she expected you follow it with her. She was completely lost, adrift and drowning. She had the look of someone who'd been abandoned or deserted, someone whose entire belief system had been shattered. She'd lost her faith in all people, especially men.

And you couldn't blame her for that. You and Shay hadn't exactly reinforced positive images of men, and your actions had been deplorable at best. You weren't condoning what you did- because it wasn't right, and you still shouldn't have done it. And you would carry that guilt to your grave. It wasn't right, but sometimes the wrong thing was the right thing to do. Sometimes you needed to do something bad to do good. But the truth of it was that you had to do it, regardless of whether or not you wanted to. It just simply couldn't be any other way. What _had_ happened between the two of you wasn't even supposed to have taken place at all. And, technically, in a way, it hadn't. You'd made her deny it, promise it never happened. Only you had the memories to prove it did, and sheer power of will alone couldn't force them away.

Seeing how lost she was, how she'd left home... How it looked like she had no place left to go... It reminded you of yourself, only she was older than you had been when you couldn't go back home again. Your parents hadn't loved you and wanted to protect you as hers did, painfully so. In fact, your own parents had cared so little that the first thing you did was ask Darius to legally change your last name so no one would ask questions about your parents. So you could put the past behind you and forget about it, forget that those awful people had ever existed outside of your nightmares. You shared DNA with them now and nothing more. They were like gene donors, robots who had raised you to be cold, selfish, and unfeeling like themselves. And you hated them because you were afraid that you'd turn out to be just like them, which was why you didn't want kids. You didn't want anyone else to suffer like you did at your own hands. You couldn't live with yourself if you became your father.

After the papers had come through, you regained your strength, filled out a little, worked out, and grew like you hadn't been able to on the streets. On the streets, all of your body fat and your energy went towards merely surviving. You felt good for the first time in years. You relaxed and pretended to be a kid, but it was too late for you. And after you underwent this metamorphosis, there was no way that your own mother could even recognize you. Not that you really wanted her to. Your parents never knew who you were, and you honestly didn't think they would've cared if they had, except for maybe the money. Your father would've insisted on a huge cut of the money or had it stashed away in some trust fund, anything to restrict you and any little bit of power you could get. He had never touched you once, no, he was too upstanding for that. But there were other, worse ways of torturing a kid than violence. At least you'd be getting attention if he hit you. At least they would have noticed you that way. At least they would've cared about what happened to you one way or the other instead of their apathy. Anything would've been better than being ignored every day of your childhood.

You didn't have much left from those days when you'd actually had a family. You have a box of recipes in French, written in your grandmother's careful cursive. You have an old picture from that last Christmas in Montreal of your whole extended family, taken before your grandmother had died and everything had fallen apart. Then you have another picture, one of just you and your parents taken when you were about four in front of your new house. You were really smiling in that picture because you were too dumb to know anything but happiness. You wished you were still that naïve. You have a worn yet elaborate gilded rosary that used to belong to your grandmother and an old medallion on a chain that your mother gave you at your first communion or confirmation, relics left from your formerly religious past.

You have all the notebooks you took, that you scribbled songs and the story of your life in rapaciously... and all of those pens you took with you: your cheap cornerstore ballpoints, your mother's angry red felt-tips, and your father's fancy, expensive fountain pens. You have as many cheap paperbacks as could fit in your backpack, the ones you bought at the used bookstore by your house because that was the only pursuit of yours your father had ever supported, the volumes of passionate poetry that sustained your mother, a few of the complex books on philosophy your father had absorbed like air. You have a half-empty bottle of your mother's priceless, exotic French perfume. You don't have any of the clothes anymore, except that damned white bandanna (yes, _that_ bandanna) you'd used to play Cops and Robbers with your dad when you were little, and he was still a sheriff.

You have every one of your father's Beatles' albums, originals on vinyl, collector's items, all still in perfect condition. The ones that you had stolen just before you snuck out before they kicked you out, so you could at least have control over when and how you left. You took them spitefully simply because your father had loved them; they were the one remotely interesting facet of his whole boring life, his pride and joy. And you were in a way jealous because he loved them, no, _worshipped_ them in a way you could never quite measure up to.

Because you were never **good** enough for Daddy, but those pretty Beatles' albums were, and that's why he never let you go near them as a child. That must've been the one thing you and your dad ever had in common, your love for the Beatles'. Hell, you both even seemed to be attracted to girls named after Beatles' songs. Your dad, unbelievably, was part of the reason why you loved The Beatles. Their music reminded you of some of the few happy moments of your childhood. It was a way for you to escape from the loneliness, the emptiness, and your father's way of controlling everything... Music was your refuge from an unkind and uncaring world.

Lennon-McCartney compositions were the first songs you'd learned to play all the way through on the guitar. You'd mastered each and every Beatles' song, including covers, before any other song... in some misguided attempt to win your father's admiration or respect... or love. It was a way of saying, "Here, Dad, I did this for you." It was a peace offering, your way of trying to get along with him, to have a common interest. And all he'd done was throw the gesture right back in your face, like it was nothing. You'd told him on Father's Day as one of your presents to him, told him to ask you to play any Beatles' song off the top of your head. You knew the songs almost as well as George or John, but your father didn't see it that way. He never requested a single song, even his favorite. "_You're_ not a Beatle," he'd spat disdainfully with a sour expression on his face like you'd troubled him. And then he'd asked you to play a Bob Dylan song, knowing that you couldn't play it. _That_ was the kind of man your father was.

Other than that one thing, you two were as different as night and day. He was law and order; you broke and flaunted the law. He liked soft, melodic music, mostly classical, and you liked loud, eclectic, rock music... music you could dance to. Bob Dylan was your father's favorite singer, while you hated the man more than anything in the world and thought your father used the term "singer" loosely. Your father was straight-edge, boring, faithful, plain, square, stiff, and quiet; there wasn't a passionate bone in his body. You experimented, did any drug imaginable, drank like a fish, had a good time whenever possible, slept around enough to put a prostitute to shame, and partied like there was no tomorrow. You were a chronic philanderer always looking for a good time. You were cool, hip, loose, loud, flirtatious, funny, charming, and living in the moment. You were nothing but a flame of passion, and eventually that fire would be extinguished before its time. Because passion, true passion like yours, is destructive, and it burns out eventually.

You were never meant for the nine-to-five job, suits, briefcases, college, and paperwork like him. You were meant for this life, the long hours, the junk food, recording, songwriting, the touring, the listening to the same tape over and over again, practicing dance moves, tuning your guitar, fame, tabloid appearances, awards, a new girl on your arm every night. Because your passion might've been self-destructive, but at least you knew how to **live**.

And now the only things left of them were your first and middle name. Thomas Julian. There would be no one to carry on your father's legacy or his family line. You got to start over and make up a whole new life for yourself. How many people got that chance?

Darius had taken you in, and he'd become your guardian after you stubbornly refused to name your parents in court and downtown, publicly disowning them. You emancipated yourself, proclaimed yourself an orphan. You as good as were. For once, you got the chance to say that _they_ didn't matter, and you felt vindicated. You felt vindicated that they shared no part in your success. That you were literally a self-made man who didn't owe his parents anything, least of all respect. You had turned out just fine, or at least as good as you could be, given the circumstances. You still checked up on your parents and your family. In fact, you knew where all of them lived. And because your feelings had cooled over the years, you never forgot to send your mother something nice on her birthday, because she had loved you to some measure in her own frigid way. You sent things to some other family members you had liked occasionally, if they had ever been halfway decent to you. Most of them weren't such bad people.

And, since you'd been in Jude's place before... You wanted to take her in, help her out, and see her through it. You didn't want her to wind up on the streets like you. You didn't ever want her to be out there in the dark, in the cold winters, sleeping on asphalt with one eye open and a Bowie knife in hand. You'd been out there with a thin blanket, backpack, prized guitar, sharp knife, tiny flashlight, and no pillow for your head. You didn't want her to be afraid for her life, to make maybe a few pennies a day, to go without a single meal for three days only to eat a Twinkie that she would later vomit up. You didn't want her life to depend on the kindness of strangers. You didn't want her to be homeless, hopeless. It was no kind of life.

You wanted, no, needed her to know that she was always going to have a place to go, no matter how much you two hated each other. Or how awkward it was to ask you for help. That you would always be there, and that you would always be there for her. That you would come through for her when no one else would. That she could turn to you in a time of trouble. You wanted her to trust you to help her weather the storm. You needed her to know that you were always going to care about her. That no matter what you would always give a damn about her, first and foremost. It wasn't noble of you or anything. It was just you wanting to give back as good as you'd been lucky enough to receive... to a very deserving girl.

You didn't want her to be as desperate and hungry as you had been. You didn't want her to resort to some of the things you'd done. You had stayed in shelters until they'd kicked you out, eaten in soup kitchens until they refused to serve you, gotten job after job only to be fired or have all your meager minimum-wage assets swallowed up by the federal government. You'd applied for Welfare, government assistance of any sort, but they'd rejected you since you weren't a grown-up yet. You'd fallen through the cracks. You didn't even want her to know about some of the things you'd resorted to. Like how you had dug through the trash behind restaurants more than once for a decent meal because it was either someone else's half-eaten leftovers or nothing at all. Or how you'd flirted your way into the homes of many women far older than you with children your age or older, and you'd slept with the desperate housewives not for money, but just so you could _shower_ and maybe steal some soap or a couple scraps of food.

In fact, prostitution was the only low you hadn't ever resorted to, but you'd come awfully close those last few days. The money was so good, tempting, and it was demeaning, but wasn't the option of food worth it? You'd almost forgotten what food tasted like that day you'd contemplated selling your body for a burger. And you were so damn sick of the hunger that you almost did it when the businessman walked past you. You'd made yourself all up, smeared the black dirt around your eyes like kohl, sucked on your lips to make them red and full, licking them periodically so they'd be glossy. You'd worn a thin button-up shirt and a pair of tight, tight jeans that unzipped in a flash. You didn't even bother with underwear. You even had some of the condoms in your pocket that you'd snatched from your mom's room before you left, half on a lark, but half thinking they might come in handy. You'd been all set, leaning against the wall, staring at the guy, ready to give it all up... When you saw your father's face on the man's face. You heard your father taunting you in your head, saying he'd always been right about you. That you were nothing more than some degenerate who started fights, didn't know the meaning of hard work, and would probably die from AIDS at a very young age, lying in the gutter. So you backed away, picked up your things and walked down the street so you could either get shot or mug somebody.

And then, like a miracle, you met Darius. And you played him "Hey Jude", which was always your favorite because it was like he was talking straight to you. See, Fate's a funny thing. Your rendition of "Hey Jude", jaded and weary yet breathlessly hopeful, giving it your all, dying to sing it... Moved a big, scary man who wasn't quite as heartless as he pretended. Maybe it was just pure dumb luck. Maybe it the twisted deity's form of a sign, that there was hope for you yet, some sort of cosmic joke or heads-up or warning (you couldn't decide which) for later on in life when you'd meet _her_.

Jude wasn't like you, but it was that same sort of single-minded desperation you saw reflected in her eyes. Since she had nowhere to go presently, you decided to make an offer. "We can go back to my place if you want," You offered generously, glancing over at her casually like it was no big deal. You shrugged a little, watching her carefully for a response. You hadn't even meant it like that. You weren't propositioning her now, when you were fully sober and knew better... Even though you wanted it badly enough and would have trouble turning it down. Jude wasn't thinking straight now; her head wasn't in the right place. She needed somewhere safe, somewhere neutral to talk, to sleep. You weren't going to try anything.

However, it came to you as absolutely no surprise that Jude didn't believe you. No one ever had any faith in you, and you'd done pretty much everything in your power to suggest the opposite. She had no reason to trust you except for the fact that you genuinely wanted the best for her. Not that she knew that. Jude's eyes widened, and she shot you a stunned glance as if she couldn't believe your nerve. You satisfied yourself with the fact that you had at least gotten some sort of reaction out of her. _Something_. Something was better than nothing. Jude laughed nervously, but you could tell she was faking it, even the discomfort. It was an emotion she didn't have in her. "Because that went **so** well the first time around, Tom," Jude retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes and going right back to looking out the window. You tried to avoid wincing. Her comment had stung a bit more than you'd been prepared for.

You thought you'd covered up the grimace as best as you could. You were just trying to do something _nice_ for her, not lure her back in bed. Again. She must've noticed your reaction, though, because you saw her reflection frown in the window and purse her lips pensively. Her hauntingly dark eyes, also reflected in the glass, seemed to be staring straight back at you. You remembered that her eyes had been that smoky blue last night and this morning at various moments when she'd been aroused. But she'd looked at you differently then than the way she was looking at you now, almost pityingly. A few moments afterwards, Jude turned around abruptly to face you. She sighed heavily, looking at you through tired, grayish eyes. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I just... don't think that would be a good idea. Neither of us wants me to wind up back in your bed, I'm sure," Jude remarked wearily, sounding wise beyond her years.

Her voice was hoarse from all that singing, and you could hear the strain. You hated the things that breathy, heavy tone did to you. The way it made you sit up a little straighter, drive a little faster, be just a little more reckless. You nodded distractedly, sort of agreeing with her and wishing you hadn't. You hated how she'd added that little "I'm sure" at the end, like a sort of question or a test. It sounded so dry, much more witty than it should've. You gripped the steering wheel just a bit harder and tried to really concentrate on your driving. Things were going by so fast. "Yeah," You remarked absently, gazing at the landmarks to ascertain your place. You weren't lost tonight, just distracted from the way there. You tried not to be too insulted by her rejection. "Feel up to writing a song?" You asked blithely, thinking of G. Major.

You peered over at Jude at a stoplight that seemed to last forever. She was thinking, biting her bottom lip mid-thought. There was something so unconsciously sexy about that action that it made you bite your own bottom lip in restraint. Jude exhaled heavily and leaned her head against the window, looking out it but not really seeing any of her surroundings. "I don't know if I _can_ put this into words, Tommy. I'm exhausted," She whispered back softly, closing her eyes, leaning against the window harder. She traced the foggy glass, drawing shapes in the condensation with her fingers. You merely nodded and refrained from saying anything too forceful.

You sighed this time, pressing down on the gas as the light finally turned. You did not look at her, and she did not look at you. "Still, Jude, you need somewhere to go. Somewhere to get some rest. Talking about it helps, Jude, whether it's face-to-face or in song," You advised fretfully, trying not to push her too much. You too were exhausted. You wanted to stop driving around aimlessly. You shot a glance at Jude to catch her nodding and admitting you were right, a rare sight. She dragged her fingers down the windows, making long, slashing marks. The moonlight shone on her face, and she was like an angel. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but it was neither the right time nor the right place for that.

She sighed, leaning back into her seat, shutting her eyes against the bright street lights. She threw both hands over her face, breathing out exhaustedly. "I know, Tommy. I really do," She conceded, pausing for a while before proceeding, as if it was hard to make the words form in her head. "It's just... hard. And I'm so _sick_ of feeling, Tommy. I want to be numb," Jude confided in you unhappily, pulling her hands away from her face. Her cheeks were still white, but her eyes weren't even moist. She was still in shock. It was still too soon for that. But you knew all too well the slippery slope to numbness. Because one day you'd decided that you wouldn't be that hurt little boy anymore, so your father's comments ran off your back like water. And then you became like him and didn't care about much of anything anymore. And you would give the world to feel again, no matter how painful it was. Jude had made you feel again, and you were forever grateful for that, to know that you weren't dead inside. Jude let out a breath, looking to you with a trace of the old warmth in her eyes. "But I guess it's back to the studio anyways, Slavedriver," She finished somewhat brightly, resigned yet joking, giving you that look that said she accepted you and wouldn't have it any other way.

You kept driving until you found the familiar parking lot, not quite smiling but on the verge. The silence this time was not quite so awkward, but it was not as comfortable as what you were accustomed to. You pulled in the spot carefully, checking your mirrors even though you didn't need to do it. Driving was like second-nature to you now. You stopped the car artfully and put the car in park, making sure to put down the emergency break. Then you twisted the key from the lock and the lights turned off, leaving you and Jude alone in the dim moonlight. You felt a chill go up your spine, but you pointedly ignored it, gazing coolly up at the large, impossibly full moon. You sighed, knowing you shouldn't say what you were about to say, but you said it anyways. You had to. "You know, Jude," You muttered honestly, the sting of the old offense returning, "I'm not _always_ trying to get you back in bed with me."

Jude spun to face you so fast you felt the air move. You peered over at her unashamedly, and Jude scoffed. You sounded like a liar. And it wasn't that you didn't remember your lovely little display last night, because you did, all too well, you're afraid... You remembered how you'd woken up from your light slumber, skin cool and clammy from sweat and rain. How you'd felt around sleepily for Jude, who had been sleeping right next to you, you were sure of it. But your hands came up empty because she wasn't there. There was no one there in that bed except you. There was nothing there but cold white sheets, still slightly damp with your sweat... and the lingering warmth that showed a body had once been resting next to yours. You thought you were losing your mind. That this was all just some strange dream, an elaborate, incredibly lucid hallucination. And just thinking that killed you. You didn't want it all to have been a dream.

You panicked, waking up alone, and suddenly you were no longer sleepy. You bolted up from bed, not even bothering to cover yourself. What did you have to hide anymore except how you felt? Then you heard a sound in the foyer and you knew she was still there, that she wasn't gone already. And you were so, so, so glad. Because you knew you could stop her from leaving you. At first you were angry with the way she was leaving, in the middle of the night, still smelling like you, having shared your bed... Like she was ashamed of what she'd done. You asked yourself how she dared to escape.

When you strode into the room, Jude was fully dressed and already at the door. In fact, the door was unlocked and half-open, but you didn't care. You would slam it shut and make her come back to you. Thinking that makes you sound like a savage, but you **needed** to have her back in that bed. You weren't through with her yet. You noticed the way Jude's eyes ran over you hungrily, taking the sight of you in, and you basked in her stare. Then Jude looked away, flushing at the way she'd stared. She had stared at you with virgin eyes, in awe of you, like she'd never seen a man naked before. She probably hadn't, but by the way she was gaping, it was like you were a masterpiece. She was looking at you an awful lot like you were God, and that was a lot of power to level on your chiseled soldiers.

You approached her in a flash, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it in a few seconds. Jude jumped, and she looked so frightened that for a minute you'd almost backed away. But you couldn't resist, so you pressed her against the door, so that your body was against hers. At that very moment, you had so much power over her that you just wanted to hold her arms above her head, tear off all her clothes, and take her right there. Jude was afraid, yes, but she wasn't any less affected by your presence. You stared at her hungrily, penetratingly, wanting her. You asked what she was doing, and she told you. But you didn't want her to go, and you always get what you want.

She looked down, not like she couldn't look at you, but... Like she knew that if she looked at you, that was her surrendering all of her power to you. It was like she knew she'd give in if she even looked at any part of you. This reinforced the idea that she wanted you, and you knew you'd make her come back. Funnily enough, though, as she spoke, your rage dissipated slowly. She tried to push you away, but you refused to budge or give her an out like a gentleman would've. After all, you were never a gentlemen, and you didn't pretend to be one. She looked so downtrodden, making you think she felt used. She wasn't used. You leaned in closer, wanting, needing to make her see the truth.

Your mood was softening more by the moment, and you were becoming increasingly less dark and stormy. You touched her, trailed your hands all over her, and you relished the feeling. You demanded insistently that she'd stay, expecting that she would. And then, when she didn't respond to that, you used logic on her. You saw Jude weakening, and so were you... so you found it easy to change, to slip into the role of the seducer. It was a role you wore almost as well as a second skin. It felt somehow more natural to you to give her the pleading eyes and pouty lips. To speak with your voice hoarse and heavy with sleep, an octave lower than it usually was. You licked your lips then, wanting to kiss hers, but somehow you managed to restrain yourself. You pulled back just before your lips touched hers, giving her an option and making her long for your lips. You knew full well what you were doing to her.

It wasn't a deliberate attempt to play with her emotions. It was your way of showing her that you really did want her there. You really did want her in your bed, and not just for sex. You wanted someone alive and warm and real in your bed, just that once. It got tiring, waking up alone every morning. Solitude was lonely. You waited for an answer, silently pleading as a man as proud as you never did. Jude cared for you, and was it really so wrong to be around someone who adored you? There was something comforting about that, something reassuring... Being around Jude like that was like wrapping yourself up a blanket still warm from the dryer.

But Jude refused you. That surprised you because no one ever refused you. No one ever told you no. It was a wholly new concept to you, and it was like you'd never known that people could do that. She trembled, though, and her voice wasn't right. You could tell that she was making herself do it, but you understood and said nothing about it. You didn't call her on that because you wanted her to be with you of her own free will. She opened the door, turning her back on you, and you resigned yourself to the fact that she was really leaving. After all, she had to leave sometime, and why not now, now that the deed was done? You tried to act like it meant nothing, but you really had wanted her to stay, and you didn't understand why she didn't want to come back. You were the one who could go to jail for it, but you didn't particularly care.

Yet you couldn't stop yourself from crying out at her in a voice that nearly shouted out how distraught you were. You felt pathetic for caring so much. That exclamation made her turn around. Jude took a good look at you then, not like before when her eyes had blazed with lust. Her eyes were admiring yet filled with tears. She looked at you sadly and then said those heartbreaking words, and it suddenly registered in your head that she thought the entire thing was meaningless to you. If you wanted a meaningless screw, you could've gone to a club and picked up some bimbo with a line, a drink, and a smile. If you wanted a meaningless screw, you definitely wouldn't risk jail time for it. It really was the real thing this time. If she thought that, then she really didn't get how you thought about her at all.

So you took Jude in your arms and you told her the truth. You reassured her as best as you could, hating that she thought so little of you. Not that you had given her reason to think more of you. You didn't know what you could say to correct her vision of you, or how on Earth you could possibly explain how you felt about her. How could you explain feelings that you didn't even understand yourself? But you had to. So when Jude pulled back, and you were terrified... of her, that she was going to leave you anyways... You started talking, holding her hand. You were hopeless, you really were.

You had absolutely no idea what to do with yourself when you were around her. You weren't even used to feeling. And you saw the look on her face and knew that she wasn't getting it. But you couldn't explain it any more or any better, so you got frustrated and walked away and paced. You had trouble being away from her, though, and that didn't strike you as something wholly normal. You couldn't make it better. Then something came to you, and you just told her the truth. What you felt for her. That revelation was startling enough. You saw the look on her face, understanding and stunned, and you knew you'd reached her. Finally. So you kept talking, even though you weren't happy, and you tried to explain in more detail. You still couldn't believe that you cared so much about this girl. She'd really gotten under your skin, made you start caring about things. And the thing was that you meant every word. Every last word.

Jude cared about you so much. You weren't used to people like that, who only cared about you and didn't have any ulterior motives. No one had ever cared about _you_, just you, as much as Jude. Most people didn't care about who you really were at all. There was always some reason, something that "love" was dependent on. This wasn't so for Jude. You could do anything to her, any terrible thing you could think of, and she wouldn't leave. She would come back and stay to listen to what you had to say. You couldn't get rid of her, and... you didn't really want to. You wondered then if your eyes accurately reflected your adoration and your gratefulness to her. You owed her so much more than you could ever give her, and you only wanted the best for her. You prayed that she got what she deserved.

It definitely wasn't you.

Jude looked surprised at what you'd said, but it was true. No one loved you for you. Sure, Darius had cared, but only to get you to sign a record deal. The guys had cared because it was a band, and they needed you. Your father had only cared about you enough so that he didn't look like a completely awful person, to save face. Your mother had cared a little, really, you guessed, but only as long as you didn't tell your father about her affairs. And the others weren't even worth mentioning. Jude could care about you because she was still a child, and she was still trusting and thought you deserving of love. How quickly she would change her mind afterwards, you thought. Yet still, here it was now, later... And she still loved you despite everything.

The concept was incomprehensible to you.

You were scared, too, scared you'd ruined everything. And you had, of course. Ruining nice things was what you were best at. But there was the gist of it. You didn't want to hurt her. You actually cared if you hurt her or not, something that had never before bothered you. Yet you couldn't stop yourself from hurting her with every breath. And you didn't know why. You could've sworn Jude smiled at you.

But either way, the door had shut behind her, and Jude wasn't making any move to leave. So you approached her slowly, giving the timid girl more than one chance to run. Jude didn't run, though; she merely let you approach her blithely, secretly nervous. You wanted to kiss her once you reached her, but you couldn't do that. So you picked up her hand, staring at it in wonder. You couldn't believe that someone like this, so innocent, so pure, was over the moon for you. Then you confessed to her further and her eyelids fluttered, dark with an emotion you couldn't identify. Yet moments later Jude drew back, eyes wide and startled at her own behavior.

So you pushed her a little, touched her a little more, seduced her properly. You lost track of what you were trying to do and were once again living in the moment, consumed by your desire for Jude. Every touch was intoxicating, and you tried to touch a little more. You lost control of yourself, couldn't keep yourself off of her if you tried. Then again, you didn't want to try. You wanted nothing more for her to stay so that you could finish this up properly in your bed, comfortable bed. This was why you wanted her so much. She was so achingly exquisite, and she didn't even know it. You were saying some words, but you were consumed by what you were doing, and they were only afterthoughts. It was a wonder you managed to avoid kissing those full, pink lips of hers.

She welcomed your advances then and didn't push you away. You knew she was affected by you when you heard her ragged breathing, and you had smiled, knowing you had control. You knew she was going to stay. You had won, and that victory felt like liquid gold. It felt good. Moments later, she gave in and walked back to your bedroom. You locked the door and then flew back in your bedroom, impatient to have her once again. She was still there, and you were going to make the most of it. And then she fell back on your bed and your lips covered hers and she felt so _damn_ good that you just... can't take it!

Yes, you reflected, that was a lovely memory, wasn't it?

Jude rolled her eyes at you and got out of the car wordlessly, knowing she would snap at you if she spoke. You winced but followed her out of the car, making sure to lock up before you caught up to her. You politely opened the door for her, and Jude swept past you without a word of thanks. She didn't even spare you a dismissive glance. But you were already walking on eggshells with her, so you didn't press it. Immediately, Jude headed for your studio, and you followed her once again. She went behind the glass in the booth, notebook still in hand... But she merely stared at the blank pages, growing more frustrated by the moment at their emptiness.

Numerous times you attempted to give her a prompt to write a song about, but she shot each one down or failed miserably in her attempt. Finally, you came inside the booth, trying to counsel her. You were her co-writer for a reason, after all. Your mind could think up lyrics, but she just rejected them or didn't finish. You tried relentlessly to make this impromptu session bear fruit. Jude had written many other songs, but her notebook was at home... If she could even sing anything now, given her broken rendition of "Your Eyes", which had just been a practice. There was, of course, the option of her singing some of your songs. You were wholly uncomfortable with that idea but willing to try it. Jude, of course, wanting to have nothing to do with you, refused flat out. You didn't say it out loud, but her singing one of your songs would've embarrassed you.

So you were perversely glad that she didn't sing one of the songs you'd written about her yesterday. It would only be humiliating and painful for the both of you. Jude tried a bit longer, but her heart wasn't in it. She was too distracted, and you could tell that the hysteria was just beginning to set in. You tried to deal with her as gently as possible, but even this proved to be no match for Jude's temper. Jude stood up abruptly, leaping up from her stool and sending her guitar clattering to the ground irreverently. "I can't do this, Tommy! I can't sing about this. I can't verbalize **this**. I can't even think about _this_ without losing it!" Jude shouted dramatically, making sweeping hand gestures at you. She refused to say what _this_ was. And she bolted.

You wondered if you should let her alone, if that was the right thing to do. Maybe she needed time to deal with it, and you should just let her be. But then it occurred to you that you had no idea what Jude had seen, and thus, no idea how she would react to it. Jude was a bold, brash person who felt without ceasing and tended to jump into things. There was no telling what she would do. Maybe she would try and leave the safety of G. Major just to get away from you. You didn't want her doing anything rash. You didn't want to have to look at yourself in the mirror and know that it had been your fault she'd done whatever stupid thing she was up to. And you knew whatever she would do would be stupid and bad and not good for her. But you really had no idea, did you?

A few moments after pondering this, you walked out of the studio briskly, wondering where in G. Major Jude went. You still had your keys, so she probably wasn't going anywhere- yet. That meant that Jude was probably still at G. Major. She had nowhere else to go. You first checked the bathroom, refuge to crying girls, palace of privacy. You knocked on the doors but got no response. You even went inside both of them, but Jude wasn't there. You checked the lobby next, but Jude wasn't there either. After that you scanned the studios, even crappy Studio C, which was more broom closet than studio, but she was in none of them. This didn't surprise you too much since Jude didn't want to record anything. You checked the kitchen, thinking she might be trying to drown her sorrows in food or at least hungry, but the room was empty. You went through every office, searching for her in any possible hiding spot. You even peered out at the fire escape, but it too was deserted, looking as desolate and lonely as it had last night.

You'd searched the whole place, and you hadn't found her. She had to be gone by now, hitched a ride or a taxi or something... But wait, that wasn't true. You hadn't searched _everywhere_... There was one **very** notable exception. It was like you'd been avoiding it on purpose, and maybe you were. The practice room with the piano where no one would ever look. If she was anywhere, she had to be in there. You hated to go in, for you had broken Jude's heart and made her deny everything in here. You didn't want to face the reality of what you had done, how you'd cruelly kissed her and taken it back just because you were scared. Because you couldn't do this. And then, what? You'd followed her and suddenly changed your mind completely. And who was hurt for your indecision?

Jude. Always Jude.

Maybe you should just leave. You shouldn't be around Jude at all. All you ever seem to do is hurt her. She doesn't need to be around people like you. You should just go back to the way you used to live, not caring about anyone but yourself. It was so much easier, and so much less painful for you... It would be for Jude, too, wouldn't it? Even though absence supposedly made the heart grow fonder; if you remove the cancer, you remove the problem, right? She could easily thrive without you. And you... you would live without her as you had for the other 21 and 3/4 years of your life. You could go back, couldn't you?

You sighed and walked towards the door, feeling your trepidation rising. You told yourself that you had to do this for Jude, so you managed to suck it up and open the door. As you had predicted, there was Jude, sitting on the piano bench exactly as she had earlier. You forced down the incredible feeling of déjà vu that was threatening to overwhelm you. There was, of course, a twist. This time around, Jude was clutching a bottle of vodka like it was a life preserver. She must've had time to sneak into your office and steal the bottle you kept in your bottom drawer. But Jude had bypassed the glass and was tipping back the bottle. The bottle was about three-quarters full last you knew; now it was half-empty. Immediately, you sped over to Jude and jerked the bottle from her hands, finding the cap and quickly screwing it on. She was a minor. She was not supposed to drink... because of you... again. Or at all, period. At that moment, you lost all patience with her.

You set the bottle down as calmly as you could because you didn't want to leave a mess for the janitors to clean up. Somehow you managed to set it down without breaking it. Then you turned to Jude, eyes blazing with fury. Jude was stiff, leaning casually against the piano. You took a deep breath, trying not to look as murderous as you felt. You bent down to Jude's level, affecting an aura of calm. "Come on, girl, just tell me what's wrong. You'll feel better if you talk about it," You said softly, placing your hand on her thigh without realizing it. Jude's eyes shot up immediately to look into yours, shock written all across her face, but she didn't slap your hand away. She didn't speak either. You moved your head a little closer to hers, shooting her a pleading look. "Jude, it's not good to keep your feelings bottled up inside. You can tell me anything, I swear, and I won't say a word. I won't judge you," You swore, meaning every word. Then a brief, calculated pause on your point. "What's got you drinking at quarter 'til eleven?"

Jude violently pushed your hand off her thigh, glowering at you. She said nothing; she merely snorted. "Yeah, well, _you're_ not one to judge. I got that liquor from _your_ bottom drawer, Quincy, and everyone knows you hit the bottle just a little too much," Jude drawled scornfully, lips loosened by the liquor. She'd been less drunk last night. Apparently the vodka had hit her pretty hard, which was unsurprising considering it was 100 proof. You liked your liquor strong. You weren't going to waste your time downing watered-down drinks. Her words were sharp and icy, but she was right. She then made a big show of rolling her eyes at you, pouting petulantly. You sent her a look that showed that you weren't going to give the liquor back. At least not until she gave you a reason (or not at all, really, but you wanted to trick her into telling you what had made her so upset).

She exhaled deeply, her shoulders drooping as she leaned forward. "Fine," She conceded wearily, "I'll tell you." Her eyes were focused on the floor. You fought the urge to smile triumphantly and focused instead on listening to her. "My dad's cheating on my mom," She blurted in a rush, stumbling over her words. Suddenly, everything clicked in your head. Apparently Sadie had been right about the affair, but she was wrong about Jude. Sadie shouldn't have kept this from her. "That's what I walked in on... My dad was my hero. He's the person who cares about me most in the _world_ and... he's cheating on my mom. How can he do something so awful, Tommy?" Jude managed to stammer out through a wave of tears. She started sobbing mournfully, burying her face in her hands. You placed a comforting hand on her back, trying to soothe her. You didn't speak.

Then Jude looked up at you, eyes full of tears, make-up slowly running down her cheeks. The force of her cries was so strong that Jude's thin frame shook with every sob. She hiccupped violently, trying to stop crying. "Why do men cheat, Tommy?" She asked dolefully. You had no answer for her. You had no idea why her dad would cheat. You knew only your own reasons, and you knew that they were far different from his. You had never loved another person or any children.,. You'd hadn't had a family since you were a kid, if you could even call what you had family. Not even with Portia. Men cheated for different reasons. You just hated that it had to be Jude's dad. You shook your head, wrapping an arm around her, about to say something. But then Jude looked up at you, stopping you dead in your tracks. "Why did _you_ cheat, Tommy?" She questioned in a soft voice, tears falling down her cheeks.

She made no effort to stop the tears, so you wiped them away for her with the pads of your thumbs. This was not a question you wanted to answer. But Jude was looking up at you with those cornflower blue eyes, looking fragile, needing something to hold on to. She needed to know. You looked down, not wanting to face her when you said it because you knew you'd feel low once you did. "It's different for me, Jude," You began apprehensively, feeling the blistering burn of her stare and knowing that she did not believe you. You heard her scoff through the tears, forcing you to explain further. "I was eighteen when I got married, and I had no **right** to even get married. I wasn't ready for the commitment," You continued in a low, scratchy voice. That short, impromptu marriage of yours was one of your bigger regrets. It placed easily in the top five stupidest things you had ever done, above even your oh-so notorious public striptease.

You looked up at Jude, thinking you had finished, but the look in her eyes indicated otherwise. She wanted an answer as to why you cheated, and you hadn't given her one. Jude kept staring at you with dark, angry eyes, and the tears slowly stopped coming. Her eyes dried up, but the salty traces of tears remained on her cheeks. Neither of you moved to wipe them away. You sighed deeply, unable to look at her any longer, and you started to speak again. "I cheated because I was _bored_, Jude. Marriage... it got real old real fast for me. I wanted excitement," You said plainly, hating the words and how jaded you sounded. You knew the words weren't what Jude wanted to hear, and they hadn't come out quite right. You forced yourself to look up at her, wanting to give her some hope. "But the cheating's not the problem, Jude. Take it from a man who knows. The cheating can be fixed, forgiven, or ignored. All of that can still be overcome. The marriage can still be saved," You elucidated, trying to explain your point.

Jude rolled her eyes at you. It was, obviously, still too soon. Shay had just cheated on her, and she wasn't going to understand what you meant. You knew this territory better than most, though. You had been forgiven time and time again by women after cheating. You'd buy flowers and jewelry, and you would say all the right words to convince them that you wouldn't do it again... if you even cared enough to be with them. The impulse wasn't the problem; you would always have that impulse. You could quell it and suppress it, but it was still there. You could even deny it, but you never did that. That was too much effort and no girl had ever been worth that effort. That was the problem. That no one had been worth the effort.

Cheating for you honestly wasn't personal. You would cheat on virtually any girl, even if that girl was a supermodel (but only with other ridiculously pretty women, of course). Your philandering was indiscriminate and chronic because you had never cared about any of them. It was different with Jude's dad. He obviously loved Jude, her sister, and her mother very much. He could fix it. "I never loved Portia, Jude. I've cheated on every girlfriend I've ever had, and I never loved any of them. That's the thing, Jude. You can fix any relationship as long as the love's still there... and both parties are willing to try. I wasn't willing to try," You murmured softly, feeling like a weight had been taken off your shoulders. "But your father, girl... He's a good man. He loves you and your mother. He would do anything for you. And that's how I know that it's gonna be okay," You said reassuringly, rubbing her back and letting her head fall unto your shoulder.

Jude sighed dreamily, and you stiffened just a little because you could feel her warm breath on the side of your neck. Jude, however, didn't seem to notice. She merely let out a breathy little sigh, closing her eyes and wrapping her leaden arms around your neck. The tiny sigh did things to you that you didn't want to admit. Your legs were beginning to hurt from squatting so long, and you wished you could stand and set her down somewhere more comfortable. Like your bed, you thought devilishly, wishing you'd ignored her mandates and gone "home" anyways. Jude wasn't asleep yet, but you knew her to be weary physically and emotionally since you'd had a share in making her that way.

You could tell the sleep was coming on swift and heavy, and you made no move to stop it. Simply put, Jude was exhausted, and you refused to deny her the simple pleasure of a good night's rest. She was already inhaling slow, even breaths and exhaling them... slow and deeply, resigned and accepting, sounding almost wholly at peace in your arms. Her eyelids fluttered lightly, lashes tickling the crook of your neck and your taut, firm shoulders. You wrapped your arms around Jude's back gently, resting your head lightly on top of hers. She didn't deserve this much pain; she really didn't. So why did every guy in her life wind up hurting her? Was it because Jude trusted too easily? Because she cared too much? Because she actually believed in people?

You exhaled heavily, bringing a hand up to stoke Jude's hair softly. Jude's lips, resting against that sinuous area between neck and shoulder, smiled and brushed lightly against your skin. You felt pleased that she liked the gesture, so you sought to repeat it until she made you stop. Jude didn't make you stop, though. In fact, she dragged her lips lightly across your collarbone. You thought you were imagining things, that it had just been an accident... but it wasn't, and you knew it wasn't when she did it again. And then she kissed your neck softly, once, twice... the third time she nipped at your neck- too hard. You backed away, pulling away to stare at her. Jude turned her head up a little, still resting uncomfortably near you, still on your shoulder even, to get a good look at you. It was a lopsided view, but Jude had always seen you like that, hadn't she?

She'd always leaned on you and looked up to you, even though you deserved the exact opposite. And you didn't understand why. But her eyes were filled with love again, silent but there, deadly to you. Her eyes were misty, too, and pleading... a blue so light the sky was envious. You wanted to get lost in her, but she looked so lost that she couldn't find herself, let alone you. She breathed your name so softly you couldn't be sure if she'd really said anything at all. You drew back from her slightly, and you saw panic flash in Jude's eyes. You pulled back a little more, forcing Jude to jerk her head off of your shoulder to stare at you, confusion clouding her eyes.

You were tired of stooping and merely wanted to stand, so you started to rise, still keeping a hand on Jude's back. This, however, proved to be too much for Jude. She lunged at you, knocking you off balance, and sending the two of you tumbling to the floor. You landed painfully on your back, flat against the floor. She, of course, managed to land on top of you. And in a few moments, she'd shaken off her daze and managed to untangle your limbs so that she was now straddling you, legs on either side of your waist. She bent over you slightly, pressing your chest down with both hands so you couldn't get up. You were rather effectively pinned to the floor, and moving, if you could have even considered it at the moment (Jude's position was very distracting), was an impossibility. Then again, the idea of moving never even occurred to you. A hot girl was on top of you, and you were a red-blooded man. It wasn't exactly logic that was ruling your thoughts.

You swallowed hard, dying to do something about Jude's close proximity. She was right there in front of you, skin brushing against yours and driving you crazy, practically begging for something. But something inside of you told you that it was not the right time- that the thing with her father was affecting her and... It was becoming harder and harder to resist Jude. Especially when she leaned down further so that nearly all of her was now flush against you, every last _luscious_ curve. Her flat stomach was soft against your chiseled abdomen; it was almost as if she'd been molded to fit you perfectly... or something. Her breasts were pressed up against your chest, and the push-up bra and the angle combined to give her an impossible amount of cleavage. She was right there in front of you, and all those memories you'd tried to suppress of the way she looked, which you'd memorized, came flooding back to you.

And you wanted nothing more than to get underneath those clothes and look on the familiar sight. You kept trying to talk yourself down, trying to tell yourself that you didn't want to do anything with her, no, not again. But that was a lousy lie because _any_ man would've wanted to do something with her when she was in his face like this, regardless of age. This was the worst kind of temptation, only this time Jude knew all too well what she was doing... and how she was affecting you. You could tell by the seductive smirk playing on those red lips of hers. Her face was very near to hers, but she made no move to shorten the distance. She was waiting for you, but this time you were as still as a stone. You refused to start this up again, but only you... you would have no qualms with her initiating a liaison.

Then, when Jude noticed your failure to despond as she desired, she leaned forward still further, but she refused to touch your lips. She merely shifted against you so that her hips fit better against yours. You cursed the layers of fabric between your skin and hers, longing to sink into her again. Jude knew how much that slight adjustment would irritate you, bringing her so far against you that were the clothing not there... She was so close you could scarcely stop from thrusting against her... but you refrained, afraid you'd embarrass yourself. You were far too eager and far too turned on for your own good. It was a sheer miracle that you had managed to hold out that long. She trailed her small, delicate hands down the plane of your chest, then down your sensitive sides, stopping to trace the waistline of your jeans.

You groaned very loudly then, and Jude smiled wickedly, looping her fingers through your belt loop, her fingers _accidentally_ flicking against the sensitive, covered area above your hipbone. The denim fabric of your jeans seemed all too thin. It seemed that your jeans were becoming tighter and more uncomfortable by the moment... with her so close the fabric chafed. Jude liked that power an awful lot. She liked having you hungry and desperate for her, craving her like air. She deliberately shifted her hips against yours yet again to better accommodate you, but this time the purpose of the action was to make you groan again. You were utterly at her mercy. She casually placed a hand on your upper thigh- that did it for you.

You leaned up a few inches and slammed your mouth against hers ferociously. Jude wasn't quite as taken by surprise as you thought, but she hadn't expected it then, in that moment. Her lips were partially open, allowing you to easily ravage her mouth. Her lips burned you like fire, and you could still taste the vodka on her tongue. You kissed her even more deeply. You wanted her _bad_. A few seconds later, your hand slid up her ass, pulling her still further against you. And then that hand slipped underneath the smooth satin dress, brushing against her thigh, fingertips latching on to the the waistband of the lacy red panties you'd predicted that she would be wearing. Jude pulled back for a moment at this, grinning lazily, dazed by your touch. She looked like she wanted to say something. For a moment you thought she'd tell you to stop and tear your hands off her.

But she didn't tell you to stop. You silenced her with passionate kiss after passionate kiss, not wanting to hear those words come from her mouth, but Jude eventually managed to speak her piece. "The piano," She gasped in between kisses, rolling over and dragging you with her so you were on top. She gestured with her head towards the object, and you suddenly understood. You smiled flirtatiously, and Jude kissed you even more thoroughly. You nodded just barely, since you'd just barely managed to grasp the meaning of what she was saying, and then you acted. You positioned your hands beneath her, wrapping your arms around her tightly, lifting her up, and then you pulled away from the kiss to collect what little wits you had left. Then you slowly started to rise, taking Jude with you.

Jude sighed breathlessly, pulling back a little and shooting you a coquettish look. Then, holding your hands, she walked backward until her back hit the piano. She let out a shrill laugh, before wrapping her arms around your neck, pulling you against her. You wrapped your hands around her waist, and Jude leaned back against the piano. She placed one of her hands on your hip, sliding it along your side, running her fingertips along your lower back. Her blood red nails lightly scratched your skin, and then her hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingertips trailing up to trace the curve of your spine. You shivered at her intimate touch, and fisting a hand in your hair, she tugged you closer. Then Jude smiled at you with dark, indigo eyes, glowing nearly violet in the light, and she bent her head to send a torrent of hot kisses down your neck.

Her lips came further and further down, tasting the saltiness of your skin. You threw back your neck so that she had better access to your throat. Suddenly, you felt the increasing pressure of Jude's lips on your collarbone, sucking hard at the flesh there like she couldn't get enough. And then she bit down and it stung, but just a little. What stung more was the realization of what exactly you were doing. You pulled away abruptly, taking a big step backwards to catch your breath. Jude fell back against the piano, breathing fast, ocean-colored eyes clouding over with confusion. "Why did you stop?" She gasped throatily, blinking, not comprehending. You shook your head and saw Jude's eyes darken in irritation.

You hated to see her look like that, but you had to be firm to make up for your spinelessness. You had to be constant to make up for how you'd screwed up. Doing... doing anything with Jude, anything beyond the simple boundaries of friendship, was wrong. If you did anything like that, you'd just be leading her on, and she didn't deserve that. It wasn't fair to string her along when you couldn't make it legitimate... when you couldn't acknowledge it in public or even give it a name. "I _can't_, Jude," You exhaled fiercely, fighting the overwhelming urge to give in with everything in you. "It's not right. I shouldn't have done anything the first time. And I'm not going to feel like I'm taking advantage of you again," You stated staunchly, refusing to back down. Jude's eyes narrowed, and she actually laughed, lounging against the piano.

Her eyes were a light, shining, frost-tinged blue. "You're always saying that, Tom... but you **can**, and you have," She said sharply, killing you with a look. She placed a hand on the piano's smooth ebony surface, tapping her fingernails against the black lacquer. The sound resounded in your head, making your heartbeat speed up in sympathetic stress. It was like a telltale heart hidden under your floorboards, always beating, never ceasing, the clicking rhythmic like a clock's ticking. "And you will again, Tommy," Jude predicted in a low, hoarse voice. Your eyes widened, hating that she knew you so well and hating that she was right. You were afraid that was going to happen, but a part of you knew it would, deep down inside... eventually... probably later on. You didn't like to think that, though, because it was incredibly fatalistic of you. You were not the kind of man to submit to a fate he didn't want. It was as if by merely thinking that it was inevitable, you were condemning yourself to do it again... and if you were going to do it anyways, what was the difference if you did it now or later? "Because we just can't stay away from each other," She finished matter-of-factly.

There was no denying that she was right about that. Jude crossed her arms over her chest, peering at you speculatively. "Is that what you really think, Tommy?" Jude asked with wide, innocent-looking eyes. You gave her a look. If it wasn't what you really thought, why would you even bother mentioning it? She wisely accepted your silence as the only answer she was going to get. "Well, Tom, you'd be wrong," She interjected harshly, raking her eyes over every inch of you and then smirking, "I know _exactly_ what I'm getting into this time around." Her deep blue eyes flashed brilliantly, turning a dark, seductive azure. You swallowed hard as Jude threw back her neck, beckoning her over to you.

You wanted to go over to her badly, to take the easy way out... But something inside of you refused to let that happen. Your feet were unwilling to move even one step towards her. Your hands remained limp at your sides; they did not stretch towards her like you were aching to hold her in your arms. Your body did not flinch or budge even an inch. And, although you could not see yourself, you knew your face was stony and devoid of expression and emotion. You said nothing, but your cool silence said more than words ever could. It said all the things you couldn't say but left them open to her interpretation... so you didn't say anything wrong. Only you were always saying the wrong thing, regardless of whether words actually passed through your lips.

Jude stubbornly placed her hands firmly on her hips, thrusting forward from her lounging position so she could stand up properly. She cocked her head, staring straight through you, and tossing her vibrantly scarlet curls back. Her hair glowed like fire, red-hot and angry, against the white porcelain skin of her shoulders. "If anyone's being taken advantage of here, Tommy, it's _you_," Jude murmured bluntly, a slight grin playing at the corners of her lips. She sent you a come-hither stare, darkly and plainly exposing her want for you. That remark combined with that stare sent you reeling, and you were rarely ever shocked anymore. Your throat was incredibly dry, and you really wanted to go over, but you held fast to your principles. You'd lacked the sufficient self-control to prevent it from happening the first time around, but this time you were fully sober and had no excuse. So you remained rooted to the floor, stiff and stock still.

She sighed, clearly becoming increasingly frustrated with you. She never had liked to wait. Her eyes burned into you accusingly, resenting you for not melting. Suddenly, Jude seemed so much older. "Tommy, I _want_ to forget," Jude snapped loudly, clenching her fists. She stalked towards you then, thinking that if you wouldn't move, then she would come to you. She stopped close in front of you, too close. Her eyes immediately came down, pointedly focused on your lips. Still staring at you unnervingly, Jude's pink tongue flicked over her own lips, which were still smeared with some vestiges of shocking red lipstick, moistening them. Jude moved still closer to you, leaning in to whisper into your ear. "And I'd rather be addicted to you than whiskey," She muttered sultrily, kissing that tender spot just below your ear, the one that she knew made you crazy. You moaned, and she pulled back at the sound, patting your cheek once. "You don't burn on the way down," She hissed flirtatiously, rolling her tongue on burn, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek before pulling away even more abruptly. Jude sure knew how to leave you wanting more.

One of the loose straps on that sinfully virginal dress tumbled down her shoulder. She let it fall gracefully this time and made no hurried move to push it back up to rest on her thin, creamy shoulder. The strap slid further down her arm, pulling the bodice of the dress down with it, but only just enough to reveal a little more than a hint of her lacy red bra. She raised an eyebrow daringly as if challenging you to **do** something about it, proudly rising to her full height. Once again, she rested her soft hands on her hips, which jutted out all too visibly in the clingy dress. Naturally, your eyes were drawn to those hands with their perfectly glossy candy apple red nails, thin fingers, and the single adornment on her right middle finger- the silver star ring she always wore. You bit back on your lip, picturing those soft hands exploring the texture of your skin. It wouldn't do you well to picture that.

The other scrap of fabric drooped a little on her shoulder yet remained in place, keeping the dress from falling down completely. You stared fixedly at that determined strap, craving to see more... wishing that that damn strap would fall all the way down. Jude smirked at you as if she'd read your mind and seen those lecherous thoughts of yours. Well, she had no clue what the hell you were thinking because your mind was something so perverse and explicit that she could not navigate its treacherous rapids. She was still a novice to this seduction game you'd mastered before you were even a teenager. Still, you had never been known for your self-control... Hell, until you met this girl, you'd never even _had _self-control. Yet there you were, **not **having sex with her. Wonders never cease with this one, do they?

Your eyes scanned her chest, absolutely riveted, leaping from the flowing strap still on her shoulder down and across... eyes briefly burning into every scarlet love bite sweeping across her collarbone and up the side of her neck, remembering how she'd giggled and moaned when you found the most sensitive spot there. Your eyes continued on their luxurious path, lingering on the curves of her cleavage like the hands of a sculptor. Then your gaze followed the path of the fallen strap, following the way it dipped down over the supple flesh. Your eyes shot up to Jude's immediately after perusing what she had to offer. "Like what you see, Quince?" Jude retorted sarcastically, a coy grin on her full lips.

Yes, you did... too much. Jude _certainly_ didn't look like a little girl anymore. After all, you'd taken away that innocence from her, stripped her of her remaining years of childhood. You wished you could say you'd made her a woman, and in a way you had... but you had just brought out the woman already in there, the same way a jeweler cut and polished a diamond in the rough to make it sparkle. You were nothing more than a catalyst. She was a full-blown woman in every sense except the most important one, those silly, worthless little numbers. Still, your eyes remained focused on her figure. You might have nodded in response to her question because you were that dazed, but you didn't notice. You could think of nothing but Jude, and she knew that. It was as if she could see in your eyes how you wanted to taste her again, to caress her skin, to be with her again.

Okay, so maybe your thoughts weren't that noble... But most of them were variations on a single fantasy: taking Jude right then and there.

And then, it was as if Jude sensed your steely resolve weakening, she flew at you, flinging her arms around your neck. She sighed, inhaling your scent, warm breath hitting your neck. She drew back a little, smiling at you with happiness radiating from her laughing sky blue eyes. Her eyes were bright and, for the first time in at least twenty-four hours, overflowing with life. Her eyes shone vivaciously like the deepest blue star sapphires. Her contentment was contagious, and so, surprising even yourself, you planted your lips on hers. Had her lips gotten softer? You felt Jude's lips curl into a grin against your lips and, together, attached by the lips, the two of you crashed into the piano.

At this blunder, Jude broke away from you for a moment to laugh loudly in amusement. You effectively silenced her with a swift kiss. In a moment, you pressed her flat against the piano, and Jude sighed blissfully. Her fingers were swift and eager in unbuttoning your thin black shirt; she'd unbuttoned half of the shirt before you had even noticed. You shrugged out of the shirt and merely let it fall to the ground. Then you got what you longed for; with a tiny push, the stubborn strap finally slid all the way down her arm. Your hand reached behind her back and found the zipper to the mockery of a dress. It was an unholy contraption designed to entice you even more, a virgin's trapping made of a whore's fabric. You unzipped the dress quickly, for you could not bear to wait any longer to see the lingerie and flesh beneath it.

Jude smiled coyly but refused to let you rip the dress off of her. She pressed her back hard against the ebony, so hard that it had to hurt her back. Then her fingers worked at unzipping your jeans with a surprising adeptness. She insisted that you finish undressing yourself, which you did hurriedly, before she would slip out of her dress. After you did so, Jude looked down, smiled, and let her dress fall to a pool at her feet. She kicked the dress aside, spreading her legs apart, standing tall in her pumps and lingerie. Your thirsty eyes took in the sight of her like water. A slow, sure smile spread widely across your face, and you approached her almost hesitantly, suddenly kissing her neck. You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat until something shiny caught your eye.

The glimmering object in question happened to be around Jude's neck. It was, impressively enough, a fairly large (high quality) diamond on a thin silver chain. That was your Jude, ever the minimalist. You shot her a questioning glance, and Jude merely shrugged. You guessed immediately that it had been bought by Jude on your credit card, probably Tiffany's, you guessed. But it wasn't as if you didn't have the money. Plus the necklace was not overly showy, nor was the stone abnormally large. In fact, the diamond seemed to suit her. It sparkled just as she did in the light, effusive yet not leaking sunshine... and polished as opposed to dull or rough. "Okay, I splurged... so sue me," Jude confessed wryly. You didn't want to sue her, but you did want to make her pay... an expensive price for a forbidden object, but the forbidden fruit always tastes better, sweeter than the rest.

You smirked mischievously, coming at her. You pressed your skin against hers, removing the sexy, skimpy lingerie so that she was wearing nothing more than the pumps, your present, and a beatific smile. She threw her hands back against the piano, and your fingers somehow wound up overlapping, so you instinctively entwined her slender, calloused fingers with your own. Despite the gesture, there was little tenderness to this scene. You buried a hand in her hair, using it to pull her head up into a rough kiss. That was the only form of payment you needed. You pushed her further up, so that she was almost completely on top of the piano, quickly covering her body with your own. She writhed against you, moaning loudly as her eyelids fluttered. You waited cruelly, though, delaying until she was quivering for your touch. You had her exactly where you wanted her. So you seized the moment and thrust. She had been right... Your bodies fit so well together.

You'd never felt so at harmony with another person as you did when you were with Jude; you who prided yourself on achieving that very thing every day in music. Sex with Jude was like that elusive perfect duet. Your voices harmonized naturally, and your actions were perfectly choreographed- all without saying a word. It just came. The timing was impeccable. The chemistry... undeniable. You were drawn to her like water, never once taking your eyes off of her. And you genuinely liked your partner, which reflected on your perception of the performance as, well, superior to a solo or a quintet or with some other singer you disliked.

Her hands slithered up your arms then down your sides, finally stopping around your waist so that her nails could dig painfully into your lower back. She shuddered hard beneath you, as you had always wanted her to, sweat only just beginning to bead on her body. Then she screamed your name piercingly, voice so high and shrill that it could break glass. She cried out what you were doing her to the heavens, but not in a language human ears could understand. Her slurred words ran together, sounding like a foreign tongue, all except the one... your name. You, however, did not scream as she did. You merely moaned and drew in deep breaths, completely at peace. Your eyes closed for brief periods as you slowly let your guard down and stopped worrying. Yet her name never once passed from between your lips, no matter how pleased you were. You refused to allow that, and if it bothered Jude... You had stamina in spades, so you didn't let her off there but continued until, gasping for air, a fatigued Jude pushed you away... but not too far.

She kept you well within her reach. In case she needed you or something. She couldn't bare to keep you away, just like you couldn't make yourself stay. You were still so close, in fact, that you were brushing against her from time to time. You didn't mind this because you liked being close to her. It was all you could do to stand upright on sluggish legs, mind still clouded with passion. You leaned your forehead against hers gently, brushing your lips against her face. Though it had been a long day and you had just engaged in a very tiresome act, you smiled blissfully, forgetting everything, still high. Being this happy was a rarity for you, so you treasured it while you could. Your own skin shiny with sweat, you smiled lazily, reaching down to run your fingers along the soft skin just above her breasts and then trailed a fingertip down the damp hollow between them. Her breasts were still pressed slightly against your chest, even though you were no longer connected in that intimate way, but not flush against your chiseled muscles as they had been previously. There was a sort of distance, a strange kind of detachment, between the two of you now, despite your present closeness. Your tired, beauty-idolizing eyes flickered briefly over Jude, satisfied with what they saw.

You had achieved exactly what you wanted in her. Jude's face was illuminated by a becomingly rosy flush, her skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight. Her glowing, sticky skin was like ivory, contrasting greatly against the piano she had collapsed against exhaustedly, utterly spent and breathless. Her legs were still spread apart, and even though you were too close to examine the work of art before you properly, you silently commended the view. You had made her that way, you thought with satisfaction. Her hopelessly mussed, shiny hair was tangled up like strings of rubies. Her kiss-swollen, dark orchid-colored lips were glossy and slightly parted, pouting invitingly, lush, velvety, and full like rose blossoms. Some traces of the deep red lipstick remained on her lips but most of it was smeared. She panted heavily, still trying to catch her breath, chest still heaving against yours. It was not at all as it had been this morning, but it was different like it was every time with Jude. This time you didn't have hours to spare, time to consume, or a comfortable bed to test out. You had done your exploring last night, memorizing every part of her because you thought it would be the last time you ever gazed upon that silky lily-white skin.

So you had burned the images into your mind, never to forget them even if you tried. And for that, you were glad. There was an almost unnatural pallor to her skin, and you wondered what that meant. Her hot skin, still warm and moist from your touch, was quickly starting to cool. Your hand somehow found its way over to the area just above her heart, and you left it there, simply feeling. Her pulse raced, heart slamming against her ribcage, beating so fast beneath your fingers that it nearly skipped a beat more than once. She had to know you were there, touching her. She would not be so affected otherwise. Still, there was something almost magical about the moment. You felt like every shallow breath she took was devoted to you, that her heart was beating for you and only you. Her eyes were still closed, almost as if she was bracing herself for a coming blow. Or maybe, you thought, staring at her in fascination, as your breath slowed against her forehead... she was just resting. Maybe she wanted to have you close to her, if only for those few moments while she was still basking in the afterglow.

Something about Jude at that moment looked so... fragile, so innocent, and yet so primal, so sexual. This was your Jude, stripped to the bones, raw. Those jagged edges were what attracted you to Jude in the first place- your specialty was polishing up green, raw talent, making it shine. You liked that she was untamed and yet wild, untrained in some aspects, aspects such as this one. She looked so young then, reminding you once and again that she was a minor, and not the adult she seemed to be. Looks were deceiving, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. You'd rationalized it by saying that you'd been more than an adult at her age, and it had helped that Jude was so mature... in some respects. But even your circuitous ramblings had to end sometime, and there was ultimately no good justification for what you had done. You didn't even love her, so why risk it again? Why risk everything on this one girl? What was really so special about her?

Even your explanations for it failed here. You only knew that for some strange reason, you actually cared, and that unsettled you almost as much as the fact that you had just committed statutory rape for yet another countless time that very same day. But you were still awash on ecstasy and endorphins, so the guilt hadn't yet permeated your mind. For those few minutes, you breathed, hovering close enough to Jude to brush against her, but not indulging in the feeling. You merely rested as she did in blissful silence. For once, the voices that had been plaguing your mind for the past twenty-four hours finally shut up, and you allowed yourself to relax because of it. You tried not to slump against Jude's body, though, and in those last moments, the two of you barely touched at all.

Then Jude's eyes flew open just as yours were beginning to flutter closed. Her eyes widened immediately as she glanced around at her surroundings, horror written all over her face. Stark realization had illuminated her features. She gaped at you in mortification, abruptly jerking back against the piano, clearly frightened. Jude shoved you away with a force that sent you stumbling back, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to regain some of the modesty she'd thrown carelessly to the ground with her clothes. "Oh my **God**. I just had sex with you. _Again_!" Jude gasped, terrified, almost beginning to hyperventilate, covering her open mouth with her hand. You frowned at the way she'd said it; she had made it sound like it was the worst thing in the world. All you had done was give her what she asked for. You gave up your principles for her. You let her _use_ you to forget her father's infidelities, and you'd done such a good job of that that she'd forgotten her name. You were not the kind of man who let himself be used, and yet... You had given her all you had, all you could offer, and then she spat on it.

Just like your father.

You broke the law of the land for her, and she had the right to be horrified? It wasn't fair. She'd lost her virginity to you last night, and while you hadn't planned on having sex with her again, especially so soon, you weren't on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of it. She almost started to wring her hands, but she noticed the way you were staring at her, so she sacrificed her modesty to hurriedly grab her clothes and start dressing. You hated that, the furtive, anxious glances she shot you, like she didn't know what to expect anymore. You wanted to say something cruel to her, to be vicious and mercenary back, but you couldn't bring yourself to do that. You couldn't bring yourself to insult her, to say even one negative word against her. The words were there inside you, bubbling on the tip of your tongue, but they were all lies. You were ready to denounce her, to call her a slut (after all, she'd had sex with you two nights in a row), to say anything to get the focus off you... to stop yourself from feeling like this again.

Feeling like _you_ were discarded this time around. Feeling like you were the mistake here. You'd said sleeping with her was a mistake, and here you were objecting to her wanting to cut and run. You were always a hypocrite anyways. But you'd been pushed off to the side for the majority of your life, and you refused to stand for that once you grew up. The streets had taught you not to settle, to fight for your rights. But saying all that would show her how this unplanned... occurrence had affected you. And you weren't entirely willing to say that something that should be as meaningless as this, something that should've just been a one-night thing... had affected your heart of ice at all. You liked to pretend you didn't have one because then you didn't have to feel the unpleasantness of life... the guilt, the pangs of whatever-this-feeling-was.

She was a kid, first and foremost. And it would do you well to remember it. You knew that it mustn't happen again. But it would, and you knew that. It was truly a question of how long you'd hold out, and that answer had to be at least her eighteenth birthday and... Oh, God. There it was. You said it. You wanted to be with her, really be _with_ her, like a g... You didn't dare say it. You were practically counting the days. You wanted to wake up next to her every morning. Clearly something was wrong with you. You wanted it to be the flu, but you knew it wasn't. You'd done exactly what you didn't want to do. You were thinking seriously about what you wanted, and what you wanted was Jude. You'd tried so long and so hard to fight it, to deny the irresistible desire... but all that effort was in vain, because you'd wound up falling in with her anyways, and now you were drowning like a lovesick fool. You could be a fool, but you absolutely refused to be lovesick, to have another human being to care about that much. You'd rather be numb, you thought, than stuck in this impossible, hated position.

Jude had been drunk, not thinking clearly. So what was your excuse? You'd been fully sober this time around, and maybe that was how Jude had planned it. Regardless of that, she was now sober as a heart attack. Her fingers, though, were shaking as she hurriedly pulled on her panties, stumbling and nearly falling in her attempt. Her skin was even more flushed now, and you noted idly that it was a full body blush, which allowed you to stare unabashedly under the guise of observation. Her trembling hands reached around and tangled with her bra, fastening it wrong, halfway inside-out and with only one hook. It was a haphazard attempt, only good enough to get her out of there. Nothing more. She groped around on the floor for her dress, putting her arms over the sleeves, pulling it over her head in a hurry. Her unsteady hands found the zipper after a long while, and she jerked it up as abruptly as it could.

The zipper got stuck in the middle of her back, but Jude made no attempt to pull it up the rest of the way. She pushed away from the piano as if on fire, tripping over her own feet. You made no attempt to get dressed yourself; you merely stood there like a statue, watching her scramble for her clothes like a chicken with her head cut off. It was a reversal from this morning, when you'd hastened to put on your own clothing, and she'd strewn her dress on the floor. You had taken so much care dressing her, and so little on yourself. You wished you had just left before she woke. She might never had known if you hadn't dawdled. But she would've figured it out somehow... the pictures on your desk, probably, or her memories. You wondered if that would've been worse. When you saw how truly desperate she was to leave, you walked over to her, startling her.

Your fingers found her zipper, and you tugged it up gently, methodically pulling it up all the way. You were careful to smooth the fabric, to ensure that her hair didn't get caught in the zipper. Jude drew in a sharp breath, but you pretended not to notice. She was going to leave, and this time you had to accept that. You understood now why she hadn't rushed to leave and dress earlier. It was a way of trying to keep things the same. If you didn't get dressed, then you weren't accepting it. Jude stiffened under your touch and turned around, an uncertain smile on her face. You knew that she was going to sound like a broken record, or worse, exactly like you... so you didn't give her the opportunity to make you feel foolish. The phony smile spread across your face so easily, like warm butter. "Get some rest, girl," You murmured gruffly, only intending to kiss her on the forehead. However, somehow your lips were drawn to hers as if they were magnets. The kiss that followed was not intense or wildly passionate. It was one last outpouring of feeling, and the force of your lips on hers knocked her back a step or two. You pulled back abruptly before you got too involved in the kiss, which was more of a chaste peck than anything else. You smiled softly and as real as you could, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in slightly. "Even the brightest of stars burn out," You whispered into her ear, touching her star ring lightly before turning completely around and beginning to dressed yourself.

It was a chilling warning, but it served to nullify the insinuation that your earlier comment had provoked. Telling her to get rest meant that she would need it, and that you would have more in store for her. But you didn't. She just looked exhausted, and she hadn't been home in a day. You'd already contributed to her exhaustion today, and you didn't need to be around to continue your not quite so generous contribution. You glanced up, pulling your pants up, to find Jude still there and staring at you. "This didn't happen. I am not stupid. I wouldn't..." Jude rasped disbelievingly, denying it with every breath. She hadn't quite recovered just yet. You had expected her to say something like that, so you just nodded and acted like it didn't bother you at all. Like you didn't feel exactly as stupid as she did. You acted like it was water and just let it roll right off your skin. Then you resumed buttoning your shirt like nothing had happened.

Jude made some incredulous sound, though it was impossible to tell whether her disapproval was directed at you or herself. Then she whirled around, straightening up a little, and briskly exited the room. "Be safe!" You shouted after her, hating the mockery your words became. You hadn't been very safe lately yourself. Someone who lived as fast and dangerous as you did had no right to tell her to play it safe... but this wasn't about you being a hypocrite. You wanted to keep Jude safe, that was all. You finished dressing and walked out in the hall just in time to see her exit. All you knew after that was that she got into a taxi and left. You didn't even know if she went home. After what she'd seen, you couldn't blame her for not wanting to go back. You watched her until she was gone and then stared into space for sometime, feeling somehow empty, like a part of you was gone.

Yet somehow you managed to snap out of that miserable, lonely stupor and drag your tired ass back to the practice room. You glanced around it, to see if it would look different afterwards, like Jude had... But it didn't it looked exactly the same. Like nothing had happened there, only something had, and you couldn't stand to deny it. Why deny it now when you were all alone with yourself? You weren't deluded. You knew the truth. You knew she'd been here with you, and the smell of your cologne in the air (and now, you reflected, on your skin too) proved it. The air was stifling and heavy, but not at all as it had been this morning in your hotel room. There was a certain emptiness this time, and not just in the room... but in you. You missed Jude, and she'd just left. It was utterly ridiculous, feeling that way, getting into a mess like the one you were already in. You thought you were done acting like a stupid teenager.

You couldn't take it, the unchanged appearance of the room. So you picked up the bottle of vodka, your own frustration mounting, and threw it against the wall violently, not even wincing as it smashed, sending drops of liquor and tiny, glittering pieces of glass soaring through the air. The bits of glass tinkled and shattered further as they tumbled to the ground, but you merely stared at the wet spot on the wall in fascination as the liquor trickled down the side, taking shining shards of glass with it. The sight, the brilliant explosion had been like a shooting star. Jude was just rising up in the sky, white-hot, and what were you? A long-fallen, slowly dying star... a dull, fading red color, like the fading, dying embers of a fire.

In a daze, the image of the vodka bottle crashing into the wall and exploding forever ingrained in your head, you walked back to your office to retrieve your cigarettes. You hadn't had a smoke in a while, but you'd indulged in worse vices today. You were about due. Hell, cigarettes were a healthier addiction than sleeping with minors. Still... having sex brought much greater satisfaction than a cigarette, even if it was morally wrong. God, what was your problem? You'd broken the law before, but even someone with your police record hadn't done anything this bad. You hadn't committed a felony just yet. Cigarette in hand, you whipped a lighter out like second nature, lighting the cigarette before you even looked down and realized that you were standing out on the fire escape. You had been operating on auto-pilot. Despite the fact that it was December, it was a warm, wet winter... for Toronto, anyways. And the clouds above you were still ominously dark, nearly a sickly green color that reminded you garishly of Jude's dress last night. Last night, you thought, remembering this very spot with a shiver.

The clouds bore neither rain nor snow, but something else entirely. It was too warm for snow, yet too cool for rain. Maybe they would produce sleet, but most probably they wouldn't produce anything at all. It was like the sky was making fun of you and your foolish human ways. You deserved it, though, because nothing you did made any sense. And you felt guilty for what you'd done, so guilty that it was eating you up inside, tearing you apart, even if you wouldn't take it back. Yet, like the haunting clouds above your head, you sensed that something had happened this night that you couldn't take back. It was a stupid feeling anyways, but you couldn't quite figure out what it was, and that bothered you. There was some far-reaching consequence that was going to sneak up on you, one you couldn't see, hanging yet in the stars.

You exhaled slowly, numb to the bones... and not just with the cold. Now that you'd had a little taste of what really feeling was like again, it made you all the more aware of your own emotional vacancy... of how shallow and colorless your reality really was. But you didn't like feeling either; it hurt after so long. You liked being safe in your little cozy frozen world with no one to disrupt your plans for building yourself a frosty fortress of solitude. Jude ruined each and every one of your best-laid plans effortlessly, without even trying.

Still, when you thought of your bleak, boring, wasteful existence without her... How it felt to be adrift and purposeless... If it wasn't for her age, she would probably be the girl for you. _Thank heaven for little girls_, you quipped bitterly, sarcastically. You found yourself wishing you hadn't smashed that bottle, but then again, that was what the single-malt whisky was for. _Thank heaven for little girls_, indeed... _they grow up in the most delightful way._

_- Loren ;_


End file.
